Darkness in the Light
by the-lazy-ant164
Summary: It has always been a well-known fact that Optimus is the perfect leader of the Autobots - both idealistically impossible and spotless at the same time. But in truth, none of the history books got it entirely right. This is an actual recollection of what might or might not have occurred. With every cards revealed on deck, the role of judgement is yours to proclaim.
1. Chapter 1

It has always been a well-known fact that Optimus is the perfect leader of the Autobots - both idealistically impossible and spotless at the same time. He carries the heavy weight of leadership responsibility with ease, he's courageous and optimistic in the face of impending doom, he's smarter than most and comes with a comparably strong build, and he's always coming out on top, both from heated battlefields and any history book that even remotely mentions any kind of conflict at all.

But not all of those are correct, though. In truth, none of them got it entirely right, either. Optimus is, at the same time, all of it, and none of it. History records, dates and months and all that unforged information aside, of course. This is not a story, but an actual recollection of what might or might not have happened, bits and pieces voluntarily provided by anyone, ranging from real-time witnesses to by-stander's gossips, whose validity may be questionable, but it is not the point of this writing to accuse him in an open court. Here, where all regulations are non-existent and every card is revealed on deck, the judgement is yours to proclaim.

CHAPTER 1  
#Birth in the Ashes of Light

It was a heavy acid rain. The heaviest one, actually. Everything touched by the unholy substance almost instantly evaporated off the surface of Cybertron itself, to be returned into its natural compositions in a flurry of raging chemical reactions.

To Primus himself, it was a torturous scene to observe first-handedly as his creations were wiped out one after another, in a last disgrunted scream of unimaginable anguish as if begging for a more merciful death. To Cybertron, it was nothing more than a simple natural selection, whereas carrier nature's law prevails all of bot's plan, effectively clearing the path for the eventual appearance of a more evolutionary cybernetic species. To Unicron himself, in all of his destructive might, this was merely a gourmet snack compared to his insidious plot of universal extinction, but it was still satisfying to watch the prized creation of his lifelong opponent aiding his cause. All perspective considered, this is one of those events that actually _does_ worth bothering the gods themselves with, which actually signified its magnificance to all Cybernetic lifeforms, varying from an end-of-the-world doomsday to an incredibly entertaining show.

All except _one_.

All except _the thirteenth First Prime_.

He sat back and observed leisurely as the first-ever generation of Cybertronians was decimating. On some wicked whims, he was even letting out a few rueful giggles as if the world hadn't come to an end. While his true intention remained disputed between power corruption and mental disorder for millenias later to come, no conclusion could justify his abnormal behavior, as the laugh drawn into a fit of hyper hysteria, shattering nearby asteroids with his every intake of air. As time stretched out, gust of winds blew harder and stronger, soon becoming a giant whirlwind of enraging storm, sucking acid clouds in its waking path and spitting even more horrendous liquid from its Eye. Acid now rained down streams of destruction on Cybertron's surface, and soon Cybertronians were no longer.

On the scorched wasteland of what was left lay a tiny sparkle of light, flashing with bright intensity, shining its aura into the surrounding vacuum of nothingness. Light filled the absence space of a recently collapsed planet, and within it a planet was reborn from ashes. A new Cybertron was brought back into the plane of existence as if nothing has ever shifted.

Though if there was any survivor of the day, they would have witnessed the dark silhouette of a First Prime flying straight into the remnants of a yet recovering Well of Allsparks, disguising as a newly formed spirit, ready to be given birth on the new planet.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2  
#Flourish through Darkness

The War was over.

Every single inch of the ground lay deactivated frames of offlined Cybertronian soldiers. Decapitated helms scattered on the surface of Cybertron, all soaked in streams of life-giving Energon. A few dismantled parts were still sparkling white, live electric wires entangled in a slag heap of melted metal that reeked of burnt chemicals. The atmosphere was heavily polluted with toxic fumes, smoke and thick layers of dust, obscuring the viewing range back within less than 3 meters on an open field. Tall, huge pillars of flame reached high into the sky, piercing through Cybertron's natural Ozone layer like sharp stabs of a thermo blade, lighting the air itself on fire. Fallen city states lay in rumble and ruins where enormous skyscrappers used to stand proudly. Any and all evidence of a once-thriving civilization preceeding that exact moment was either disfiguredly destroyed or wiped out from existence.

It had been continuously processing, bulding up right into that moment. Ever since Yoketron picked up that accursed mechling in the middle of nowhere.

Their diplomacy relationship, built on Yoketron's wise choice of words and an ancient-long life of experience, had been very promising. Both parties benefitted from the mutual co-operation, the Quintessons got the muscle workers that they were lacking so much, and the Cybertronians got a taste of their advanced cutting-edge technology. Trades and contracts were proposed and agreed on with barely the need of any negotiation.

But since that fateful day, when he noticed an unarmoured protoform lying in a suspiciously empty field, with large, groggy blue optics and an innocent sheepish grin.

He fell for him. Hard.

Recklessly dropping all duty and responsibility of a a Prime's exclusive consultant, Yoketron got unreasonably distracted by the youngling. Almost as much as if he was under a hex or another worldly influence. Orga, the naive and inexperienced Prime, had to carry the immesurable weight of social diplomacy, and without a trusty consultant had unsurprisingly soon sparked the heart of the conflict. All the while, the mech that Cybertron needed the most had been discreetly concealed inside a runaway hideout in a remote section of the Sea of Rust, deeply mesmerized within the mechling's wrap of digits.

As the war broke out, the perturbed adopted-creator assigned himself with the role of providing protection to a now 30 mega-cycle old Orion Pax, including from himself, on a rainy day when Quintessa disorientation ray hits home. The Prime's very first combat training session was taught by Cybertron's deadliest hand-to-hand warrior, as if said mechling had been destined for greatness since birth.

But that statement's inaccuracy extended into two missing variables. One, he wasn't objectively destined into importance, but the entire coincident rather resembled manipulating his way through.

And second, what would become of him is not even a close shot to "greatness". The polar opposite, in fact.

So, here he returned, right in the midst of ruins, more than ready to start rebuilding everything again.

The Thirtheenth First Prime was more than eager to thrive back from within destruction.


	3. Chapter 3 - Part 1

CHAPTER 3

#Disturbance of Balance

PART 1

#Initial expression

Complete reconstruction of Cybertron took less than a vorn, and soon Cybertronians rose up from the crumbled past of the fallen. While scientists began to colonize surrounding satellites in an attempt to widen limited land area, inhabitants of the cybernetic planet no longer relied on the peaceful way of life, a consequence of the latest interplanetary invasion. Alt-mode was developed, adapted and quickly integrated into a constant part of daily norms. With that came the diversity in alt-mode selection, hence the apparition of Functionist Idealism, inevitably followed by many more religious and political alternatives, splitting a united community into distinguished social stratums, marking the birth of a stratified High Council.

Almost as if coincidentally, the area surrounding Orion's randomly chosen dormitory block became the capital city state of Iacon, where the semi-democratic High Council's headquarter stood high in the sky.

Almost.

Soon enough, education centers are opened and revealed to publicity, with high-level members of the Council – those who either invested too much or wanted to improve public relation - encouraging participation from mecha and femmes of all ages. As it stood out, the few first generations were financially supported with studying materials and curriculum courses, but were still independently charged with transportation and sanitary price, which actually cost about the same, if not even more. Orion Pax, a now one-and-a-half-vorn old mechling, just so happened to attend Iaconian Highschool for the Gifted, majoring in Historical Archivation.

It was an average orbital cycle in the norms for him, with replicating routines restarting at exactly 0:00 jour every mid-cycle. Usually, he would be recharging deeply and peacefully on his extra tiny berth, anticipating with incomprehensible enthusiasm for the next History class that everyone had been dreading towards. He might be the ideal mech that everyone loved, but there was no denying that he wasn't a weird freak. Anyone could easily conclude that he wasn't an ordinary mech just by observing his natural habits, but no one even dared to muster enough audacity to question that out loud. He was just that authoritative.

Well, not on that specific day, though.

The door blew open, crashed into subsiding walls with a loud, metal-on-metal bang, resonating through the entire three-meter-tall quarter. And threw Orion out of his deep recharge and off the berth with a painful whoop.

To conduct a statement that he was utterly, blasphemously, intensely enraged was to say water cause metal to turn into a slightly tainted tone of brown, without mentioning any everlasting damage that the process of corrosion can do. An entire understatement of the word underemphasis itself.

In fact, when the creator of said sound stepped through the threshold, if it wasn't for The Thirteenth Prime's unholy power restraining back an already-pacified-in-nature historical archivist, a very graphic and tragic crime would be committed that particular mid-off-cycle as the recharge-interruptor became the victim of his own genocide. As things went, he only stood at the receiving end of an incoming stylus, a datapad, an empty energon cube, and basically anything else that was portable enough to be catapulted through a short distance in the air.

"Stop it, STOP IT! I SAID STOP IT!" Came the startled yell from the mysterious arrival.

"Who the frag do you think you are, interrupting my mid-off-cycle rest?" Orion could be a pacifist, but admittedly there were times that he just couldn't resist the temptation of swearing. Or assaulting someone else for the sake of their annoyance and his own sanity.

"I find your behavior of violent aggression inappropriate in our initial meeting. More so when identity of one participating party hadn't been officially enclosed properly yet." Shockwave induced with his signature monotone that always reeked of composure. Only a very slight hint of sarcasm was barely detectable, and yet that proved how unsettled someone without an emotion-stimulator voice box was.

"Indescribably academic choice of lexical resources. You major in Archivation?" Just like that, and all the flames were gone. Orion hadn't ever been one for holding grudges, and at the moment, finding someone with rival-worthy expertise was way more interesting.

"Political Science, for your information. And no, I don't speak like that all the time, if that was what you were insinuating at. Only to those who I express certain levels of uneasiness towards, whom of which you happened to be after throwing projectiles in my face." Shockwave, however, weren't so forgiving. Unconsciously, he had shifted the blame over to Orion, who was too distracted by his unique characteristics to even bother getting up from the ground. He strolled into the room and started unsubspacing luggage onto an empty berth, with zero to none regards for owner of said berth.

"Hey! That's my berth!" Even Orion had to snap out of his trance at the violation of a personal property, especially one where he was retiring on until the latest ordeal.

"Well, I don't see any other one in our shared quarter, emphasizing on 'shared', so…" He didn't even bother sparing half a glance to a struggling Orion, just continued unpacking in determined silence.

"Excuse ME!?? You barged into a room, banging doors at mid-off-cycle, disrupting mecha's rest, and now you're convicting the originally rightful owner of said room while unpacking stuff everywhere and declaring common ownership on various possession like you're home!??" For the first time ever, someone had finally provoked Orion enough for him to lose his composed nature.

"Yes, indeed. That's exactly the course of action that I am performing right now." Shockwave met his accusatory glare with a cool, unwavering look. Holding each other's optical contact for a while, Orion suddenly realized something.

From then on, things would never be replicating again.

Because The Thirteenth Prime had just conspired a crucial role for him.


	4. Chapter 3 - Part 2

PART 2  
#Socially disastrous

It turned out that living with a highly intelligent geek did have its perk. First and foremost, he would have someone to turn to whenever there was a point he was missing in his thesis. Of course, not that he would normally be that careless, since it would be disastrous for any Archivist, not to mention his perfectionism. Also, another pair of servos to help around with tidying the quarter, though that was hardly necessary considering Shockwave's pristine sanitary and effective organization. He always thought he was the ideal mech in every standard, but those times had long seen better days ever since Shocky made his official arrival. The only flaw that Orion could seem to pin-point was his social awkwardness, or rather a lack of one, seeing that he was either always very blunt and straightforward, or really quiet. Meticulous observation revealed that those silence weren't just that, they were calculative and intriguing, just as much as judmental and evaluative. Innocent Orion just thought that Shocky had his standards too high and couldn't make any real friends yet, and that it had nothing to do with how majority of the time he actually appreciated solitary and built walls around himself to separate from an overwhelming outside world.

So Orion decided to play the annoying, unrequested match-maker.

"HELLOOO THERE, FRIENDLY ROOMMATE! WANT TO SOCIALIZE WITH FRIENDS?" He practically bellowed out an after-cycle in the mess hall, which predictably didn't go so well. What was worse, was that it was lunch break, and the room couldn't get any more crowded. But topping the list of worst scenarios was how Shockwave was seated on an empty bench in the middle of the room, furthest from any surrounding exits, and so startled from the yell that he accidentally dropped an entire tray of rust sticks on a nearby femme.

It was chaos almost instantly right after.

A food fight, or more rather an energon fight, was started by said femme splashing her cube's content into the face of an innocent bystander, who shoved his quantity of energon treats into someone else's face plate. The war raged on, down until the very last mecha of the auditorium was participating, and by then, no one was clean, sane, or holding any ounce of maturity left.

Unfortunately, Shockwave hadn't managed to get out yet. In fact, he was stuck in a strong helmlock from a random bulky freshman, wriggling to the best of his motor capabilities, but to no prevail, as was the result with any other physical struggle between a geek and a jock. His entire light frame was dented, covered in scratches, and sticky with dried energon residue. But what bothered him most was how his soft, sensitive helm-joint cables and air vent was being strangled and constricted too much for ordinary respiration. He couldn't breathe, and that shocked him into a raising panic attack. Spark rate increased, energon flow thickened, he tried to calm himself by thinking about an instructor's latest assignment, dead turbofoxes, mathematic algorithms, but nothing yielded results.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He grabbed the closest bottle of acidic solvent and poured it straight over the jock's helm, causing his optics to sizzle and burn with a sickening **crack** , accompanied by an anguished scream. The mech instantly let go of Shockwave and collapsed on the ground, servos clutching tight onto his deteriorating facial components, while sobbing like a wailing sparkling. The fight had already stopped, and everyone was looking at them.

The moment Shockwave realized he was getting into a whole large heap of trouble, The Thirteenth Prime was silently smirking from his observation at a far away bench. The first step of his plan had succeeded.


	5. Chapter 3 - Part 3

PART 3

#Power in Display

As the worst of luck would have it, that oversized bot was senator Ratbat's precious overindulgence of an only creation. Hence his overreaction of a somewhat minor injury caused by unintentional self-defense. Or at least that was what Shocky told Orion.

The council board didn't form any similar opinions on the matter, apparently. Evidence was his two-decacycle suspension from classes and a periodically detention. Along with a strict prohibition from any of the Academy's facilities. Which weren't all as bad as they had tried to sound it.

That was, until poor Shockwave realized the school's library and laboratory were also included. Orion had to literally hold him back from marching down to the administration department at 3:00 in the early cycle to "demand rightful liberty", as he had mildly described the act of setting incendiary materials around incidentally positioned canisters of flammable oil and igniting a spark of light in the nearby area.

"STOP IT! DON'T BE RIDICULOUS and DROP THE LIGHTER before you BURN US ALL ALIVE!" Orion had pleaded to a stubbornly determined Shockwave, not really minding much of the fuss he was making in the face of imminent deactivation. It took him almost 3 orns of constant dissuasion and tireless physical restraint – frag, the slagger was so strong for someone of his size – until the episode was temporarily resolved. Orion realized it wasn't a long-term solution for the matter, and Shock's definitely too unstable to be alone unsupervised. Orion knew he needed a distraction, a quick one, something that could interest Shock's brilliant excuse of a processor long enough to last the duration of two decacycles.

And he thought, "Why not fight fire with fire?"

Hence the reason why he was paying extra visits to the library and checking out books twice as heavy. He was going to satiate Shockwave's urge for science with science itself. Soon, more and more books stacked up into huge piles of finished documents that he had a hard time dragging back to return, but at least those arsonous tendencies were no longer. Or so he thought, until Shockwave dared to have the audacity to complain about his book taste and straightforwardly requested for a few experiment equipments. From the Laboratory.

Stolen.

After long, tiresome joors of arguments and disagreements, filled with graphic threats of school-burning for good measure, Orion reluctantly accepted his new role as the Lab smuggler to please his suspended friend.

The first few times went successfully well, as nobody even noticed the missing items. But soon, when small quantities piled up into large numbers, those incidents were soon alarmed and exercised caution against. Each attempt was harder than the previous, and as expected, he was eventually caught red-handed.

With all the irony in the world, by the same jock whose facial plate was damaged by Shockwave in the first place.

The news got to Ratbat's audio receptors relatively quick, and the situation began descending dramatically. Orion couldn't reveal the stolen object's not-so-secret whereabouts – which was actually Shockwave's locker, and yes, that was NOT the wisest stash for stolen objects, considering how brilliant he usually was – and so was forced to make up a lie about how he smuggled it to surrounding city states. The school sent Royal guards around Iacon, determined to retrieve all lost equipments because of their high values while publicly spinning a tale about some bullslag historical-origin tales that Orion hadn't even heard about during his entire stay as a History Archivist major. Ratbat was more than eager to ruin anyone even remotely affiliated to Shockwave, and decided to use his Councilmech privileges to pull social status and hold charges over Orion, possibly scheming how to frame him to the most barbarous punishments that was legally feasible.

Orion had no choice but to run away. Far away from the Academy, but yet to surpass the border where Royal guards were on the lookout for missing Lab equipments stolen by him. No, he had to find a place crowded enough to make a run for it on a particular rainy day, but nobody must recognize him, otherwise it would all be over before anything had even started. He needed inhabited anonymity.

And so he went to the only place that would suffice.

He went to the seaside and became a dock worker.


	6. Chapter 3 - Part 4

PART 4

#Strategic Reconcilement

Intuition was never justified. Despite all his logical processor working all powers to solve, predict or at least contemplate its wide varieties to at least some extent, nothing he ever calculated had been accurate regarding intuition. Or, more exactly, its anticipating outcome. For instance, when he was still fiddling around with Orion's latest steal – the experimental chemical analyser, to be exact – a huge error notification popped up on his HUD. Dismissing it as an insignificant system malfunction, but still checking his interior chronometer to be sure. Eventhough he found absolutely nothing abnormal, he still couldn't shake the feeling of something gone horribly wrong out of his helm, or a deep gut-wrenching sense of nausea for that matter.

That was when an arrival pinged his comm-interface, labeled important message. As he checked the original address, a pop-up response with "classified identity" in bold italic got his attention, and also his suspicion.

Nobody ever used that specific format in documentation, except for Orion. Who went to the Lab to illegally "borrow" some items and hadn't returned yet for nearly a decacycle. Despite his texting rate of 3 "where the FRAG are you?!" and occasionally 5 to 7 "get your lazy AFT back here, you're worrying me to DEACTIVATION" every cycle. Repeatedly.

He already knew something went wrong. Horribly wrong. Orion was missing, without even a trace of hint left behind of his intention or purpose. The entire academy's staff refused to enclose any information on him, some encouraged him to just forget the mech and focus on his own detention, some even had the audacity to threaten him into senseless submission. And now he got an anonymous message with said missing mech's signature writing style, and trust him when he declare that everything about Orion is unique, especially coming from someone who shared a less-than-three-meter-tall living quarter with him.

Wasting no more time, he opened the message. And what hit him was shocking, yes, but not completely out of the equation. It was actually a possibility that he had thus envisaged previously, and had already preempted for. Call him a paranoid mech as they will, but no one could deny he had his times. That was one of those. So he typed back a response, assurance to calm an agitated Orion, guaranteeing him that he had already planned for this particular scenario, and that he had utterly nothing to be concerned about, so he should stop making a fuss and give Shockwave some time to think. When that entire ordeal is temporarily dealt with, he returned to his projects, and began wrapping everything up. No point in leaving any chance for a random janitor to barge in and clean only to find those stolen objects that Orion had went through so much trouble attempting to conceal.

Like he said, he had already taken into account everything that could go wrong. He was positive that "Operation: Overrule" would end up successfully, even more so with Orion's aid this time.

Reading Shockwave's response, Orion couldn't be anymore on edge. Remarkably more when he was currently on the run from the governments, the Royal guards, and the Academy's security team. And only five deca-orns before, he would have never envisioned anything remotely resemble his situation right now could have the slightest likelihood of occurring. If Shockwave's arrival wasn't the ultimate jumble of his life, he wouldn't know what was.

Deciding that mulling over irreversible life choices weren't the wisest course of action to take, he continued to pursue an accommodation that he was lacking a few cycles now. His first priority was a roof over his helm and a thermostat for windy cycles, but a dock laborer's hard-earned salary was barely enough for a pint-sized cube of energon. So in finality he settled down in an ancient rundown warehouse, contented with whatever energy sources he could find, and recharged a long, satiated set-up in an empty barrel, with large wooden crates as cushions and pillows. He was aware that those weren't the best living standards, but he didn't have much option on the matter anyway, as he reminded himself, and anything was better than being executed under the servos of Ratbat.

He recharged through the off-cycle without a single interruption, totally ignorant of the fact his best friend was staying up late joors, scheming relentlessly for a flawless plan to rescind Ratbat and bring him back.

The Thirteenth Prime wasn't, though. Truth be told, he was more than thrilled to watch his sinister plot enter orbit, the way it was always supposed to be.


	7. Chapter 3 - Part 5

PART 5

#Gears in Motion

"So, that's it. You got the idea. Now do your job and stop bothering me, because unlike a particular someone, I actually have parts to contribute to in our mutual plan." And Shockwave cut the comm.

It was the third time within that same decacycle that he had initiated, set up, and severed the connection before Orion even had any chance of getting a word in between. On some certain occasions, he had even suspected whether or not Orion was actually on the receiving end of the line, but he never deemed it worthy of his time to try and verify. He was just too busy to attend to meticulous details now.

Recently, he had traced back a long history of contacts that originated from Ratbat's personal comm frequency, which he hacked into with barely any obstacles. With his superior processor strength, decoding that encrypted message was child's play. The nefarious plot written in ancient Neo Cybex-a rather redundent precaution indeed, considering Orion was a fragging ARCHIVIST, a HISTORY-major one at that. Anyway, not only was he able to learn of the Councilmech's villainous yet-to-be crime, but also his methods, his various transaction partners, and his ultimate objective to overrule the entire Council board and turn Cybertron into a dictatorial empire, with him on the power throne. To any normal mech, his ambition would sound ill and hallucinatory, but skimming through his partnership correspondence, the forever logical and composed Shockwave was petrified with frozen terror at how close to goal he was.

So there really wasn't much time for any other options left. Shockwave had to prevent this somehow, and he couldn't leave the Academy's perimeter during his unreasonable two-deca-cycle detention, so he had to rely on Orion to get the job done. Or so he hoped, as he cut the comm link and returned to his own private investigation further down the Senator's private affair, scouring for any preposterous scandal that he could get his servos on. After all, if he dared to apply confinement penalty to a self-defending mech and push an innocent's life to the extremity of escaping his own trial for fear of probable deactivation, then he should be a little bit more prepared to face publicity with his own criminal commitment. That was his ultimate aim, to use communal criticism to cause pressure and force resignation on the ill-willed mech.

Despite every variable being thoroughly evaluated in his epitome of a plan, and disregarding every logic circuit of his brilliant processor reassuring with factual corroborations and rational deduction, he still couldn't shake off a specific abdominal-wrenching temptation deep down within his flawless metabolism. Intuition was hinting him at something wrong, just like the last time he received Orion's letter, but he still couldn't place a name to that unfounded concern. Yet, he was wise enough to believe that he should be prepared for anything.

Only that this "flaw" **couldn't** be repelled against.

The Thirteenth Prime's wishes were _almighty_ and _irresistible._

-0-0-0-

Orion couldn't believe in his own audio receptors anymore.

Because as he rationally analyzed what Shockwave had just said before the comm. line went dead, it just didn't make sense.

"How the FRAG would I sneak into an empty warehouse at night to intercept the transaction between two dangerously armed criminal parties with discretion?"

But self-doubting was a bit off-timing at the moment, as he was crouching close to the ground, camouflaged with invisible force field, provided coverage by looming shadows of surrounding high piles of stacked crates, listening intensely for arrival pedfalls of heavy millitary mecha. And holding a Nucleon-charged Rifle.

With the crosshairs flashing red warnings and the safety trigger _off_.


	8. Chapter 3 - Part 6

PART 6

#Intelligence power

"Here is my part of the deal. I expect my identity to remain anonymous and my payment full in advanced for our next transaction." A metal suitcase was slid across the table, its shiny surface friction against the crumbled, shagged flakes of oxidized iron, frizzing with such a high frequency that would damage most audio receptors. The mecha gathering around the table didn't even seem to be bothered at all.

"There will be no more tradings in the future." A tall, dark mech informed dully, his servo hovering over the briefcase possessively, digits twitching as if expecting an opportunity to snatch it away.

"We had a deal." The other mech argued, his platings tight and primed, subtle hints of strained tense and repressed aggression. A ghost of a servo was looming over a machine gun.

"And that deal only mattered to the living mecha." Then everything happened in less than astrokliks. Weapons were drawn, distance broadened, and the dark color-schemed mech was stepping back with cautious wary, the silver suitcase secured in his other servo. The mecha accompanying him were visibly indifferent to the situation, more often than not accustomed to this outcome. "You far exceeded your value, crossed too many lines, and knew too much. You weren't safe to be let alone freely." Then the mech raised his firearm and leveled it at the target's helm, a digit placed on the trigger.

"But you haven't even considered the possibility that I may have installed fail-safe before playing with the devil." The mech responded, his posture rigid in frozen fear and panic, faceplate set unnaturally casual in an unsuccessful attempt at calm resemblance. His servos were already closing around the gun on his belt, pulling it out with gentle tugs so as not to unsettle the enemy or provoke them into reflexive shooting. His intentions didn't go unnoticed, however, as an accurately-aimed pot shot from one of the guards hiding in the dark displaced the mech's wrist in a stream of fresh, oozing energon, prompting an anguish-laden scream from the unfortunate mech's vocalizer.

"Nice try, amateur, but your fate was already sealed when you walked in without any backups." Then the mech pulled the trigger. A deafening sound of gunshot rang out, reverberating against the warehouse's vacant but spacious area, made even more thunderous in the midst of silent off-cycle, signifying the equivalent deactivation of a cybernetic individual.

Only that it wasn't the injured mech who fell, but rather the one pulling the trigger, or about to in this case. The suitcase was dropped onto the ground, but its presence wasn't the main point of attention anymore, as a shadow quickly shot through the darkness, from its servo flashes of light accompanied by muted metal-piercing-metal sound, striking terror and confusion into the sparks of those profesional hitmech, as each went down with an accurately aimed shot in between the optics, while the rest hadn't even got a visual relay of their apparently invisible target. It wasn't until three-fourth their number was decimated that some even had the attempt at hostage manipulation.

"Reveal yourself, or the mech deactivates!" Some of them had announced in an apathetic last attempt at saving oneself, but their blasters weren't even armed. They went down relatively easy, with a quick, decisive blow through the spark chamber or the helm. In the end, only the decapitated mech and the suitcase remained functioning, the rest completely undone with the assassinator's quick work.

The mech bent down to pick up the suitcase with his only good servo, then turned around to address the invisible.

But the other mech wasn't in a mood for conversation, no. So instead of being met with overwhelming queries, or being interrogated even, the mech found himself staring down the barrel of a Nucleon-charged rifle, in a momentary confront before his own deactivation followed short after.

The mech pried off the briefcase from the already-greying-out-frame's death grip and walked casually out of the warehouse, a sense of satisfaction tinting his unstable mentality, relishing in the joy or murderous spree. He sprayed the perimeter with combustible gasoline before setting it on fire, and as he watched its igneous, he allowed the sadist in him to indulge in the pleasure of slaughter and destruction.

The Thirteenth Prime was _proud_ of his little handiwork.

-0-0-0-

Shockwave was flicking through the dormitory's TV, bored of rummaging frantically for any loose end but to no avail. As he was criticizing the citizens of Cybertron for having such bland taste in entertainment, his digits instinctively switched to channel number one, the CyberNews, inner logical processor reasoning that at least this would be informative, though he doubt it would report anything remotely conspicuous about Ratbat's crime, when something shocked him into oblivion.

In the background was an image the same warehouse that he had messaged Orion to go and investigate. And it was burning.

Turning on the volume, he wasted no time to grab his datapad and establish a connection with Orion's private frequency, while the journalist kept relaying news on the background. "… _Enforcers found the greyed out frame of 13 deactivated mecha, and the obvious remnants of a physical struggle. While the purpose behind this massacre is still in the process of investigation, autopsy report had clinically asserted that the cause of deactivation for all individuals was identical and caused by the same weapon, particularly a Nucleon-charged rifle, an uncommon firearm which possession was heavily prohibited by most city states with the exception of Vos only. Due to the scorched and smoldering condition of the frames when they were found, detailed recognition is impossible, and so these casualties' identities remained unknown…"_

Orion answered after Shockwave's five breems of extreme pertubation, relieving him with his ever so calm and unruffled vocalizer. But it was those same atributes to his voice that frightened Shockwave even more with the disturbing content of his message.

"The resistance were _neutralized and terminated_. Information regarding Ratbat's questionable activities, along with a test sample of their smuggled merchandise, were retrieved unharmed and is now being transported to your location for further analysis."


	9. Chapter 3 - Part 7

PART 7

#Historical discovery

Dark energon had long been an infamous myth, rumored to be the blood of the ungodly Unicron himself, and venomous to the surface of Cybertron, the physical incarnation of Primus. Eventhough no one could prove its existence or provide an actual sample of the resource, more often than not mecha believed the tell-tale stories of victims who couldn't resist the urge of power, or "Unicron's whispers" as some religious cult would have claimed, and consumed dark energon, the fluid of Primus' own rival. God got enraged with their defiance, and thus rejected them the holy source of Energon, instead diluting it into the most contaminated solution, to wreak havoc on the frame of any Cybertronian, including himself. His inconsiderate and cruel deed caused an entire apocalypse to the cybernetic civilization, starving those who remained any sense of self-preservation to an eventual deactivation and torturing those who couldn't refrain themselves with the combustible reaction caused by fusion of Dark energon and Cybernetic matter. In the end, only those few who survived learnt the lesson, that was to never consume Dark energon.

It was just a mere tell-tale story made up during times of war when energon rations were limited, mecha got creative enough to tingle with the unknown, and some less fortunate than others happened to create poisonous substitution of the life-granting juice. Shockwave would have never put an ounce worth of his faith in such a fairytale, until he witnessed its capability in front of his optics.

As he injected two droplets of the unidentified glowing substance that Orion sent him into a bug, it went completely haywire and maniac. As if electrocuted with extra-heavy voltage, his readings on the experimental creature's vitals spiked to an implausible peak, accompanying with a surge of static charge, powerful enough to shatter glass, before the bug imploded within itself, splashing fluids over the transparent observation screen.

The stains of liquid was purple in colour, matching the myth perfectly.

Running a few more tests just to be certain, Shockwave wasn't even shocked to read affirmative reports on every monitor.

There wasn't any more room for doubts. Dark energon **did** exist, and he was in possession of a sample of the substance. It would be very simple to just hand this over to the government and become the greatest scientist that Cybertron had ever known of, with a contribution so magnificent that he would be remembered for millenias to come. And so he almost did.

Until he realized what it meant.

Dark energon's existence wasn't exclusive to him only, no. Far from it. At least 13 other mecha, whether deactivated or not, knew about this substance. Not to mention the mech behind everything, senator Ratbat himself, and it would be both foolish and naïve to trust that those few were the only ones. Going public with his not-so-authentic discovery would alarm them into caution, and Enforcers wouldn't stand a chance to catch the rest of them ever again after they lie low. Besides, he was affirmative that there must be a production line of this hazardly dangerous substance hidden somewhere, and such an unstable energy source must be under the supervision of qualified experts, who know the safety procedures and follow a certain code of precaution, to minimize the off-chance of any unwanted incidents occuring. If a few droplets on a three-nanometer-long bug caused a combustion of that size, he wouldn't want to leave it to chance for one of a planetary scale to happen.

As he hypothesized more onto the matter, the myth suddenly made so much sense. No longer a fabricated waste of time, but a religious divergence of a catastrophe that erased the Cybertronians' civilization and restart them from the beginning of a looping cycle, caused by unintentional maltreatment of Dark energon. And the myth wasn't an unofficial war-time story, it was a lesson, to descending inhabitants of the planet, not to make the same fatal mistake again.

So he did more and more experiments, measurements, tests and assessments on various fields. The more he delved into the fluid, the more fascinated he was. Not only was it remarkably radioactive and combustible, but also extremly exuberant, to an extent that any amount of consumption, even down to one sub-atomic particle, would stimulate an immense power discharge, potential of shocking the frame into overcharge. A devastating and lethal overcharge, as it corrupts a mech's own coding and dissolves the host's protoform into its primal components.

As almighty and destructive as it might be, everything had its own weakness, and Shockwave was proud of himself to declare the deadly substance's vulnerability to water. According to his theories and experimental records, if deliquesced in dihydrogen oxyde with an exact ratio, not only would it allow unhazardous consumption of highly-concentrated energy, but it would also realized a possibility of matter-altering on a sub-atomic level.

His findings was nothing short of miraculous or magical.

Too pre-occupied with a brilliant scientific breakthrough though, had he completely forgotten to check in regularly with Orion through their shared radio frequency.

If he had, he would have seen Orion's most recent message, a frantically scribbled note, written in a hurry.

"Trap, tracker on suitcase. Dispose it, hide everything. Run.

They're _coming_ for you."


	10. Chapter 3 - Part 8

PART 8  
#Breakout

Orion observed meticulously through solid iron bars as a few guards past, their heavy pedfalls resonating off tunnel walls surrounding him. It wrecked his nerves and unsettled the mech, but he had to be determined. They were so close to back out at any moment now.

Damn Shockwave for causing all this rampage. And damn him for getting caught. And possibly damn him for concerning Orion down to the pits with his current unknown state of well-being.

Orion dared to advance forward, painstakingly careful down to each inches of movement. The sewer system of Iacon had always been in rundown condition, littered with dangerous illness and imminent infrastructure collapse. Every steps had to be taken with rigorousness, as even the smallest flake of deteriorated metal can cause a deafening creak, potentially alarming all security guards of his arrival. Once again, he couldn't help but curse at Shockwave's carelessness. Really, he could have paid more attention in the existent realm of the living and stop being so obsessed with his new discovery. Despite all the evidences, witnesses or leads that they had progressed recently, all that wouldn't matter now if he got caught, or if they decided to offline Shockwave straight away. And what was worse, was that Orion still had no remote semblance of a clue as to how they would make their escape from senator Ratbat's excuse of a military fortress.

But he really couldn't just leave Shockwave there to rust and rotten in hell. He knew too much about their plan, and there was no foretelling to what extent would the corrupted Councilmech be ready to do to achieve these valuable intelligence. Compared to his nefarious plots, interrogation would by far be the best scenario to happen. And even that couldn't be risked.

Hence, why Orion was crawling on all four down below the sewer system of Iacon, putting up with the terrible stench of spoiled energon and swimming through thick flow of waste residue. With a package of explosives taped to his back, and his favorite rifle to his side.

He would get Shockwave out of there, by whatever means necessary.

-0-0-0-

 _Boom._

Startled out of peaceful recharge was a traumatized mech. He had just been through 2 straight joors of hell and back, memories too tainted to even bother recalling. It was scary what mecha could do to each other in the face of power and credits. He was just so unlucky to be on the receiving end of it, but back in the days these things didn't use to bother him even in the slightest bit. Well, not until he had experienced kidnapped-mecha service, first-handedly.

Needless to mention, he was full out shaken and stirred. Disturbed. Frightened. But at spark, he knew he still had some hope to cling on to. And that small, little tiny angelic voice repeating in his damaged processor kept repeating positive encouragement like a mantra. So he gathered himself and made a bee-line for the bars when the explosion took place, exhausted but determined to take advantage of the distraction to make his getaway. Forcing his logical personality component chip into dominance and let the terrorizing exhilaration of fear to grip and consume him whole. He needed to get out.

Quick-witted as he was, Shockwave grabbed a sturdy iron rod and swung it with all his might. The bars remained firm and intact, though a deafening bang resonated thorough his frame, and he almost had trouble maintaining equilibrium as the seismic waves from the explosion seemed to tear the fortress down, which effectively knock down the confinement wall next to where he was standing. Thanking Primus for the much-needed stroke of luck, he wasted no time in jumping into the hole on the wall - which to his dismay, was just the opening of a tunnel that leaded deep, deep underground, straight into the sewer system. The trip downwards was unpleasant - to say the least, for lack of a better word to describe "really bumpy and shitty", but thank Primus that the pipe ended somewhere, and he tumbled out rather violently with his ongoing momentum-

-into a crawling mech. Muttering a few selected curses, he stood up to face the mech and was never more relieved to be met with the muzzle of an Energon-charged rifle.

"Shockwave! Not that I was complaining, but… Is that unprocessed waste that is dripping down from _MY FRAME_!?"

"… Orion?" The bewildered and stunned mech stood in silence, watching as his companion pressed a few buttons on his hand-held remote control. Taking the simutanously loud explosion as a cue, he grabbed Shockwave's servo and began to run.

Behind them, the once tall and proud private resident of senator Ratbat went up in a fiery ball of fire.


	11. Chapter 3 - Part 9

Disclaimer: I don't own TF or any of the canon characters.

* * *

PART 9  
#Prosecution of Justice

Taking down Ratbat was relatively fairly easy, all things considered.

He had already taken a scandalous hit to his public relations after enforcers investigated the arsonous crime scene and somehow deducted that the cause of such devastating event was caused by a lack of safety precaution – not too far from the truth, considering the explosives were made from disqualified energon shipments back at the dock. And Shockwave even had the bright idea to recapture the whole interrogation and illegal mecha-experimenting that Ratbat was fumbling around with, which he later stored in motor functions of his processor where they didn't bother wiping. If that wasn't evidential enough, he also sent Enforcers a sample of Dark Energon they recovered, along with recordings of his private conversations with these unofficial military forces regarding their not-very-legit transactions. The fallout was quite total, with the senator being accused of multiple charges varying from light to severe, including - but not limited to - homicide, power corruption, attempted assault, illegal possession of prohibited substance, and so on. In short, it wasn't difficult to proclaim deactivation as the former Councilmech's only option at redemption.

Ever since Shockwave had gotten back from the incident, he had decided not to intervene anymore into the society and political fields of their campaign. Instead, he became the helpful scientist, occasionally offering valuable clues anonymously to the Enforcers directly, not through Orion's active prosecution, efficiently creating a divergence from his most recent crimes and disassociating him from any possible suspicion. Regarding his interrupted research of Dark Energon, he took a lot of time to think things through, but in the end, he stashed a large quantity of them far away into an abandoned warehouse which location is privileged to only him and not another spark, pledged to return and wrap stuffs up at a later date after the trial is concluded, then returned to run nomination as a replacement Council member for Ratbat's vacant seat. His ambition was large, and his run for power was universally supported by students, workers, manual laborers, and practically anyone that wasn't considered wealthy. Soon, he finished his education, and rather than receive an ordinary certificate for an average student, he was granted a commendation for simply attending Iacon's High as it first-ever senator graduate.

Orion, on the other hand, decided not to return. Despite Shockwave's countless offers of "rank pulling" and "soft, harmless influence" – which he over-achieved to such an extent that the school itself had to draw back all charges placed upon him as "burglary" or "theft" and recall every member of the Royal guard as an accidental slip-up in security - he turned everything down with an excuse of "too occupied with Ratbat's case" sometimes before, and a "not really ready to return yet" sometimes after. He never came back for his diploma in Archivation, and just stick with being the same, lame dock worker for quite the duration of Ratbat's trial. Due to overwhelming workload on both sides, a lack of communication eventually leads to the fallout in their admirable partnership, and though Shockwave was more concerned with being voted than talking to an old aquaintance at the moment, even Orion realized when something snapped inside him. At first it was barely perceptible and was only expressed superficially as short-term lost of memory. Soon, manifestations became violent reactions towards working colleagues, and it wasn't until he physically assaulted another worker, that he began diagnosing himself. As he seemed to realize, the more distant they grew from each other, the worse his conditions became.

He knew something was wrong, and blamed his intuition for excessive paranoia, but still stalked his friend's radio frequency just to be certain. And he wasn't disapointed, though, when his expectations finally came into reality.

* * *

"Hey there mech! Nice job on landing that position, pal! I knew you had the potential for it right the day we met!" A random mech smiled at Shockwave, and he raised his cube of high-grade, taking a small sip while returning a polite nod, just for diplomacy's sake. He was more than certain that was their first-ever contact of any sort, but pretending to be well-known companions had seemed to become the proper social etiquettes as of recent.

The ball room was crowded, stuffed with mecha and filled to the brim, all being aristocrats from the more luxurious stratums of Iacon inhabitants. All of whom wore such bright, good-natured grin on their faceplates while plotting such nefarious schemes inside their processor. They might congratulate him and welcome him into their class, but they wouldn't even let each other into one's own home. Ever so cold and calculating, just like him.

 _Like he_ _ **once**_ _was,_ he corrected himself _, before he met_ _ **Orion**_ _._ The night seemed so far away, yet he could still feel the ghost of a stylus making contact with his dented helm that the weird mech had projected at him as a poor excuse of a greeting. _Primus, he missed the good old days when he didn't need to keep his shields up all the time, when he could just be himself._ Young, ambitious, uncaring much. He missed all the heated bantering about silly philosophical questions that would extend far into the depth of off-cycle and left them restless for the entire following workshift. He missed bragging about his superiority everywhen he could point out a specific flaw in Orion's thesis. He missed the exhilarating thrill of waking up in the middle of the off-cycle to tinkle with stolen scientific equipments, mutturing a few inaudible gratitude for the slagger that went through so much trouble getting them for him. Heck, even when the shit already hit the fan, he could still reminisce about each waking orn, frantically scanning through their private encrypted channel to make sure Orion didn't encounter any trouble on his runaway. _**Frag**_ _, he missed that mech._

Subceeded into a trip down the memory lane, he had incognizantly began hyperventilating. In the midst of cramped, narrow space, surrounded by crowds of stranger. And so he really couldn't be blamed for suffering a mental breakdown and running straight for the nearest entrance, ignorant of whomever he bumped into on his feverish sprint.

* * *

The off-cycle was getting even darker as the van-former sped down the highway in a speed that would certainly put him behind bars for life. The heavy lead filling his gestation tanks had just turned acidic, and the unfounded phantom of a pain wrenching deep beneath his abdominal plating only succeed in pushing his top velocity a few hundred mile-per-hours higher. Cybertron's double moons were shining bright in the dark, aura of deep blue and light purple blending with his own white headlights, colouring everything around them into a typical scenary taken from a horror movie, where the life-ending phone call would be anticipated to go off at any time unexpectedly-

-and before he even finished that thought, an old radio frequency fickled to life. Orion heard a familiar sobbing sound from a ghost of his past.

" _I can't do this anymore. I can't. I know you probably aren't listening in to this frequency, and I'm having one of my episodes where I monologue again, but I can't do this anymore. Wherever you are, I know you can't hear this, but please do. I need you…"_

"… Shockwave?"

* * *

Author's warning: Part 10 is sad. Be prepared, you have been warned.


	12. Chapter 3 - Part 10

PART 10 ~ FINAL  
#Detached and Broken

The off-cycle was just so _beautiful._ Normally, he would never slow down enough to give nature's beauty a chance to impress. Ironically, when he was spiraling downwards into a pit of swelling, unstable mentality, it welcomed him into its embrace, as if presenting whatever gifts of nature that he would never be able to fully enjoy again, now that his life-long aspiration had been achieved.

To be honest, he had always considered himself more a mech of science than a pursuer of political power, but as a result from the latest events his perception had taken a slight adjustment in direction. He still preserved his enthusiasm for science, and would still prefer hypothesizing theories over campaign-running every orn, but his knowledge of the world and the way it functions had taken a drastic turn. He no longer could put on a naïve, indifferent act towards prejudiced and unethical aspects of Cybertron's corrupting society, especially after he had experienced first-handedly such inhumane feats a Councilmech is capable of. No, he wouldn't pretend everything is normal and keep living his own life, as if the Council really wasn't so messed up. From his short stay in hell, he had came to the realization that many more mecha were still suffering silently, without any voice to contribute in a poor excuse of a democratic government. He knew his only shot was at mass media influence, and as the opportunity presented itself he just couldn't pass up the offer of Ratbat's recently empty seat, right in the heart of corruption – Iacon's high council itself. Back in the election campaign, he had forcefully declared to enact principles with a subtle emphasis on mecha's rights upon winning, and it had been so successful a strategy that proposition and support from general community itself had won him his position without much struggle, eventhough most Councilmechs had actively opposed against his biased conception. Didn't matter in the end, as they all turned tails and acted like his best supporter after his campaign ended, but he still got a list of which mecha to trust and which not to.

Those were really long and tiring orbital cycles of restless conflicts, and exhaustion had finally caught up with him as he stood waiting for Orion on the balcony of the Iacon dome. He could feel each and every one of his minor functions snapping shut consecutively, vocalizer and comm system the very first, rendering the mech helpless against his own stamina-induced recharge, and he hoped Orion would arrive sometime sooner to catch him if he happened to fall over the railing.

Right when a red and blue van-former arrived in the parking slot, a deafening crack of metal impacting on hard ground rang out in the midst of night, and gravity had done the job of turning warm mechanic vents into lifeless air.

* * *

Judging from Shockwave's confidential talk, and the tone of his voice – which came from a mech with no emotion simulating vocalizer - Orion knew how troubled and distressed his friend was. Hence the reasoning behind his frantic search for the purple mech in the enormous sea of noble mecha gathering around the ball room. He received many unfriendly glances, some repulsive reactions from security guards, and a few doubtful stares when he questioned about Shockwave's wherabouts, mostly suspecting him for kidnapping the mech or whatever, but none of them were bothered enough to lift an assistive digit. With pent up frustration and helplessness, his conditions began acting up, and he had to force himself to leave the crowded area before starting any full-out brawl.

The moment he was alone from observing optics, The Thirteenth Prime emerged from within his consciousness and took over. He had been anticipating this for long, and it was only fair that he put in the final straw that would tip off the balance. So the Prime treaded discreetly towards the remnants of a broken frame, with a shard of Dark Energon in hand, and a wicked grin colouring his faceplate, set deeply in malicious intention.

Only that he found each pedfall heavier than the previous, until he could barely advance any inch further. The mech was surprised to find himself hindered and limited from total possession of the frame's mobility, but he didn't expect a white fickle of consciousness to seep back into his mind.

* * *

 ** _Peace. Serenity. Silence. Unison._**

He felt safe in the other's presence. At the moment, the intruder was a source of contentment for the mech, and he had no trouble surrendering control to the other.

But a faint fire kept flaring in the back of his awareness. It was fueled. It shone brighter by time, until the intruder was blinded.

And the memories swarmed back like a released floodgate. Moments of them having fun, enjoying themselves, basking in each other's presence.

He got the sudden urge to focus. And when he did, the other's desires visualized. Orion saw it all.

The images of Shockwave being tested on. Multilated, put back together, modified to their will. Shards of Dark Energon protruding from his frame. Rigid, unnatural movements from his frame.

A _reanimated_ frame.

A _deactivated_ frame.

" **No** ".

An irresistable temptation forced him into senseless bliss and wonderful ignorance, but the flame kept him grounded.

" **No** ". He repeated.

" _You can't do anything. I'm_ _ **inside**_ _you."_ The other replied calmly, though his grip wasn't as tight as before.

"You will **not** harm him!" Orion declared, white hot fury bristling into tendrils of pure energy.

" _I've come a **long** way for this. He is nothing but a **pawn** in my master plan."_ Even without actual enbodiment, the intruder sneared ferociously.

"He is my **friend** , and you will **not** set a digit on him!" Orion began projecting, his tendrils of lights weakening the other's manipulation.

A loud, reverberating laugh resonated in the physical incarnation of his helm.

 _"It's **hilarious** that you would based such unfounded misconception on me, while he had already been far beyond **salvageable**. If you'd been the **sincere** friend that you had so much **claimed** to be, you would have learnt of the lasting **damage** that Ratbat's experiment left on him." _The Thirteenth Prime was smirking, as if he caught Orion.

" **Enough** with your **nonsense**!"

 _"You really think a mech could be **worn out** enough to **fall** from a two-story-tall balcony? Even in your most **delusional** dream, surely there would be a good chance that Ratbat had _somehow _**messed** him up from the inside?" _Then with a short pause to let his words sank in, the intruder continued, " _Perhaps his " **accident** " wasn't so much caused by **natural circumstances** as it was set up **intentionally**?"_

"Ratbat paid his serve of **justice** , and so shall you!" Orion exclaimed furiously, though he himself was doubting whether or not he had accompliced by simply not caring enough. A terrible sensation of affirmation filled his conscience, which only made him more guilty than ever.

 _"He is already **graying out**. Time is **limited** , and with that the odds of his revival **decreased** with each passing klik of hesitation. This is the **only** way to keep your friend's precious spark pulsing, and you **know** it." _A stream of contentment coloured his statement, as the intruder had already achieved his victory.

"Even so, he **won't** be him anymore! Not if-

" _Too_ _ **late**_ _."_

* * *

When Orion recalibrated his optical sensors, he couldn't help but fllick through his memory data files to check what had happened a few klicks ago, mutturing a few curses for his condition and its memory-losing attribution. But the moment his optics began relaying visual feeds to his processor, he lost track of whatever recollection he recovered.

For he saw the battered frame of Shockwave, crackling with live electricity in a puddle of blue Energon, helm already dissected. A crystal of Dark Energon was impaled on his brain module. And though Orion hadn't ever considered himself a sentimental weakling, even the mightiest heroes would have succumbed at such a gory sight.

That particular off-cycle, many inhabitants of surrounding neighborhoods claimed to have heard a howl so haunting they would never be able to forget.

* * *

A femme walked out from operation room #207.

From **Shockwave** 's room.

In an instance, Orion shot up from where he had been slumping for the last 4 cycles and approached the femme.

"Could you save him?" Orion's voice cracked with concern and anxiety.

"Depends, but his condition when you brought him here was pretty bad." The nurse femme informed with a grim expression. "The doctors have already stabillized him, so he won't deactivate straight away from energon lost now, but since he lost too much on his way here that his frame had had to snapped into reservance, which indicated he had been starving himself recently. He is now comatose, and any likeliness of revival will be entirely left to chance and will-power alone."

"But there's still hope, right?" Orion clinged to the tiniest possibility, despair and distress colouring his voice.

"We can't outright deny any chance, but even if he make it, it will take a minimum of 2 decacycles for his self-repair to fully integrate the new replacement processor into his system." The femme sound pessimistic, but Orion refused to let anything discourage him.

"Then that is **all** I need to hear."

* * *

Shockwave was startled out of peaceful recharge by a thundering voice.

"Well, would you look at that! Someone finally decided to get up after their beauty nap! Congratulations, senator, because that fall was one heck of an accident that not many mecha could walk away from, so you can thank Primus for your good fortune and your spark for being so pit-spawn stubborn. Though your emotion core was injured pretty bad, and we weren't sure if we should tamper with your damaged processor any more than it had suffered, but overall, everything's good. Oh, and you have a pretty loyal friend by your berthside for decacycles now, so you should thank him for getting you here just in time as well." Rather than taking in the good news, Shockwave couldn't help but analyze the medic's intonation - a faux-chearful timbre, as if healing a senator would earn him much favour in the future. Usually, such behavior would disgust Shockwave, but all he could feel was a thick layer of indifference.

"Docbot! He's awake? Can I enter now?" Then without waiting for a response, the insolent mech just barged into his hospital room.

"Shockwave!" A red and blue van-former who Shockwave associated with the designation "Orion Pax" exclaimed, in an imprudent display of astonishment and happiness, as if seeing him awake filled him with real joy. Somehow, Shockwave was skeptical to that honesty and suspected an ultimate motive.

"You had no idea.. You… You scared me, slagger! Do you have any slightest idea how frightened you make me?" The mech advanced with opening servos, as if initiating a hug to express his gratitution. Deeming it unworthy of his recovering energy, he refused to engage and kept his optics trained on Orion, who awkwardly took a step back and dropped his servos as he learnt his enthusiasm is one-sided.

"Anyway… You missed out a lot, you know? Everyone's been missing you, and I really itch to take you out to that excellent oilhouse-

"Hardly relevant." Shockwave interrupted harshly, unfazed by what the mech had got to say. "Instead of wasting credits on such unbeneficial activities, I'd rather a report on the Council's current situation." He inquired as politely as he could, though it still felt like a brush-off to Orion, who had trouble forming his response.

"Er… Erm… The Council's been doing well, really. Everyone sent their condolences and your position at the board was respected, you know? Anyway, I don't want to bother you with boring political slag especially when you're recovering, but when you're back on your peds, we'll strike hard at the heart of Functionism and bring justice to the poor, just like old cycles, Shocky! It will be election campaign all over again, and I can't wait to-

"My designation is Shockwave. But I would prefer to be addressed formally as Senator Shockwave, especially from low and mid-class mecha like you." He replied, annoyed with the informality that he received from the insubordinate. Ignoring Orion's frozen look of horror, he continued, "As for my political works, that is none of your business, ordinary citizen, and please refrain from acting as a personnal advisor that I don't envalue. Your opinion is heavily impractical and unrealistic, therefore would be rejected and discarded from execution. Now I require solitary to properly recover to full health, so please stop disturbing me and leave this instance, or I would be forced to rely on escort from security personnels." Almost simultaneously, 2 Royal guards went in to grab Orion, stiffly restrained the mech and drag him outside despite his visible reluctance and clear confusion, which Shockwave really didn't find himself caring much.

Sequently, the door snapped opened, with the docbot's entrance and an accompanying inquery. "Now that you are conscious, we would like your admission for us to begin operation and reattach your emotion core." Then the mech handed Shockwave an empty datapad to fill in.

The datapad flew straight into the waste bin. The purple mech then met his glance, mono-optical faceplate darkened with a crooked grin.

"No need. I rather _**like**_ it this way."


	13. Chapter 4 - Part 1

CHAPTER 4  
#Riot of Chaos

PART 1  
#Dawn of Darkness and Light

Before the dominating reign of Senator Shockwave, Cybertron had never truly known of the word "cruelty". Turning against all that he represented and stood for, the mech publicized even more despotic enactments in 3 megacycles than any other Councilmech's efforts through their whole incumbency put together, quadruple the record for former Senator Ratbat's unlegit deeds. Yet, his atrocity knew no boundaries, as the mech himself was deliberate enough with his use of manipulation to twist the words of law to his side behind every decision, therefore rendering any conspiracy of subdueing and rescinding him treasonous and all its affiliates exterminated on spot, effectively eliminate all risks regarding his position. Despite the accumulating opposition from most mecha of lower social status, the mech didn't even bother to hold a speech in defense of his own name, rather purposely neglected any and all unfounded accusation whatsoever to focus taxpayer's credits on funding his personnal experiment of Dark Energon. If any former members of the Council was said to be corrupted by luxury and power, then unethical science would be the ultimate motivation behind Shockwave's unreasonable behaviour.

As the research dragged on, more time and energy were invested in his work, all of which consumed most of Cybertron's existing natural resources and forced them to colonize surrounding star systems in expeditions of Energon harvesting. Several of which already were inhabited by peaceful civilizations.

Shockwave let all pleads fall into his deaf audio-receptor, as he ordered total annihilation of any resistance.

Soon, Cybertron became one of the most combatitive tyranny that every living being in the Universe had ever heard of. Its steel army swept over the galaxy like an infective disease spreading, leaving trails of destruction and massacre in its wake. Cybertronian soldiers were feared and loathe by those that lost everything, and were targeted by full-blown retaliation from unions of weaker planetary defense. As casualties began to rack up, Cybertronian themselves rejected direct orders from the government, putting on strike and rebelled as the working force against the autocracy, giving birth to the very start of an epic war.

At the heart of civil conflict, witnessed the dawn of two heroes. One for justice and one for freedom. One shed light, while the other repelled darkness. One inflicted change at spark, and one influenced adjustment through corporeal manifestations. One preserved free will to reign superiority, while the other wished upon peace above all. And each to befriend, engage, then despised one another.

It was then that Cybertron knew of its greatest leaders.

* * *

"The time for a new Prime has arisen."

"From this day on, you are no longer the dock worker Orion."

"All hail the next Prime!"

"I am **Optimus Prime** , and on this day, the Council shall fall!"

* * *

"Useless, piece of miner junk!"

"I didn't deactivate that mech!"

"Rise, warrior, for you have aquired victory!"

"It is time for you to join me in my stance. All hail **Megatron**!"


	14. Chapter 4 - Part 2

PART 2  
#Slavery and Freedom

 _Clink. Clink. Clink. Pop._

Repeated manualship chained his life in slackles and cuffs. For long, he desired that small fickle of hope to a better future, to any virtual resemblance of freedom. He had always thought of himself as a mech of words and literacy, despite his bulky frame and rough digits. He was fairly certain his processor was actually competent enough to produce consumable poetry if he had given it a try.

 _Clink. Clink. Clink. Pop._

He wasn't given a chance to choose. Since his birth, his spark had been forcefully transferred to an adult frame prematurely and put to work. He didn't even get to see his own carrier, seeing as she was taken into isolation room, stuffed another tube of random mech genitals into her gestation tank and forced to contemplate with being used as a sparkling producer.

 _Clink. Clink. Clink. Pop._

Megatron knew he himself was luckier than his carrier, but rather than feeling sorry for her misfortune, all he wished for was an opportunity to rekindle their bond and truly got to know one another. At least that used to be his largest dream, back in the days when he was still young and naïve. Experiencing the life of a hard-earned energon miner for too many vorns longer than the in-built memory core's logging capacity would finally take its toll on even the mightiest of will power, leaving them vulnerable and prone to hopelessness. The perfect tool that Royal guards loved to exploit to their own advantages and twisted the working forces into their own personal slaves.

 _Clink. Clink. Pop._

His life kept on repeating in an infinite loop, starting exactly 3:00 joor every early cycle when they are startled out of recharge by a deep honking alarm, followed by senseless manual labour, until a mid-cycle break that barely lasts 5 kliks when they are fed with pint-sized cubes of Energon, before they are put back to work tirelessly until 23:00 joor off-cycle after everyone is already resting deep. As if it wasn't tough enough, they were provided none medical care whatsoever, and the inhibitors integrated within any mecha since activation prevented them from establishing contact with the outside world. Witnessed by his own pair of blurry, non-functioning optical relays were mecha who got unlucky and was deactivated by something as harmless as a tiny scrape from a particularly sharp edge of an energon shard, bleeding out during the off-cycle in silence, without ever getting to see the surface even once.

 _Clink. Pop._

He sympathized with those poor sparks, but more than ever he felt raw, unadulterated rage against those Nobility that caused such mistreatment to lower classes. He was fed up with the Council's unwavering lies and deception about giving the nation a better future and boosting mecha rights. He was exhausted from being the slaves of those Noble mecha that they didn't owe a single penny to. He felt aggravated just by the simple fact that those Enforcers didn't even give a shit about whether or not those miners were gradually decimating due to malnutrition, and would just happily beat them to deactivation at any hindrance in performance. He felt angered at those sparkless Functionist that dared to point accusing digts in their direction and call them savages, while they sat around on their afts and consumed precious cubes of energon excessively, while the miners that poured all their strength into every solid-hard plough of hoe always had to suffer from hunger.

 _Pop._

The hoe coming apart on his servo didn't surprise him as much as the flashes of thought storming his processor. It was… **revolutionizing** , to say the least.

" _What are you doing, you useless piece of miner junk? Did you just break your tool again? How many times have we had to replace it for you? Damn, useless savages! The credits for the thing probably even outcost your slagging self, so why wouldn't I just end you right now_?" The Enforcer sneered at him, his servo clutching tight at the blaster to his side.

And so, Megatron let go of his frame and surrender control over to the weird, strange but not unwelcomed sensation.

 _Crack._

Megatron felt oddly satisfying as he watched the frame of the Enforcer embedded to a cavern wall, the broken tip of his working intrument protruding out of the mech's helm where a line of Energon flowed steadily. The mech's faceplate was eerily calm, the slagger hadn't even seen it coming until it pinned him to the wall in a gory display of the upcoming liberation. On his stainless chest plating, Megatron saw the reflection of his own bloody faceplate, grinning in satisfaction unexplainable. His optics, casually dimming to preserve energon, now shone brightly in a deadly red hue. In the split second then, he stood proud over his first handiwork.

Until realization hit him that he just killed another mech. Another living being. Another mech.

The incoming forces quickly subdued him onto his kneecaps and restrained his servos behing his back, but even the wailing of an emergency siren didn't silent out his own pleads.

" **NO!** I **didn't** kill that mech! I didn't do anything! Let go of me! I'm innocent!"

But the Enforcers were too busy salvaging what possible parts of the mech to notice his scream. Or his subspace pocket being opened to inclose a typical neon-yellow Enforcer's blaster.


	15. Chapter 4 - Part 3

PART 3  
#Breaking the Cycle

"Load 'em up here, pal! Another heavy load of Energon is en'route! Hurry up, or we'll be overdue!"

Some random colleagues had shouted out to him, something about speeding up his work and participate more actively. But he just wasn't in the right state of mind to pay them any attention, since Shockwave's latest words were still echoing inside his processor.

"… _low and mid-class mecha like you…"_

"… _ordinary citizen…"_

"… _stop pestering me…"_

" _LEAVE!"_

 _Bang._

He didn't even flinch when the small package he was stacking dropped on the metal surface of the ship's deck. He didn't flinch when his superior supervisor started to close the distance. Didn't even response to his rant of incompetence and obsolescence. Or turned around to at least put on a half-hearted attempt at pretending to listen to what his boss had got to say.

Though he heard loud and clear what the radio station had been mumbling about regarding the latest dysfunction at the miners' den. Despite the slagful of "rebelling work forces" and "hazardous effects of unprocessed energon destabilizing mecha's mentality", he knew all along it was just another consequence of Shockwave's dictatorial imperialism as of late. One of those uprising phenomenons that just keep repeating in spite of everyone's discontentment.

He really didn't know what went wrong.

At first, he blamed himself for worsening Shockwave's conditions by not providing him medical assistance in time. Then he accused the hospital of Iacon of not giving their best efforts in reviving the mech. Heck, he even went as far as to run private investigations on the railing system of the Iacon dome to see if their inadequate installment had caused an infrastructure failure which resulted in Shockwave's ultimate fall, both literally to his accident and figuratively from his noble beliefs. Yielding no plausible evidences, he was forced to drop his unfounded charges against them, and also received multiple banishments from entering certain courthouses on Cybertron for causing public disturbance and expressing disatisfaction at judges' settlement.

Somehow, those facts didn't seem bothersome to him as much at the mere voice of Shockwave legalizing new sets of unjustified laws broadcasted on every radio frequency at 3:00 of every cycle. Sometimes, it would be accompanied with reports of rebellious activities occuring simultaneously all across Cybertron as a retaliatory counter-movement from those Liberity activists. A mocking irony of how displeased everyone is, and how a typical Councilmech wouldn't pay them even the smallest ounce of consideration. Yes, it would be an understatement of the term underemphasis itself if the planet's governmental voice over its civilians is described to be simply dictatorial and imperial.

A better suited assertment would include the word "abominable" and "diabolical", and that was an already biased description conducted by an Archivist.

In such chaotic times, violent outbursts hadn't been much of a surprise to him anymore, seeing as at least over 50 cases of organized attack on official headquarters and numerous other smaller crimes such as vandalism or thievery were recorded every cycle. That was why he shouldn't have been listening so intensely, or thoroughly interested in this particular report.

"… _an Enforcer was found dead, murdered at the crime scene, by none other than the only labourer inside the chamber, a mech with the designation of_ _ **Megatron..."**_

 _Megatron._ The name sound vaguely recognizing, yet at the same time thoroughly unfamiliar. It rolled off the edge of his processor, as smooth and swift as if created just to be. The denomination felt somewhat… _natural_ coming from his own repeating vocalizer, the combination of a perfectly harmonized melody swirling at the top of his glossa like soft music to his audio receptors.

"… _currently in investigation for any possible motives leading to the unfortunate deactivation of Enforcer Whipback, while_ _ **tighter supression methods**_ _on miner classes have been initiated and are being applied nation-wide to prevent these incidents from repetitive transpiring in the future…"_

He didn't like the sound of that particular phrase. Or the montrosity that underlay behind it.

So he practically ignored his boss and walked away to pack his stuff, completely negligent of his screaming profanities and bristling anger of a brutal brush-off.

After all, if someone was organizing a revolution of some sort, then surely that someone would require a helping servo. One that Orion was more than eager to lend out, in hope of correcting the wrong deeds his late friend had left.

And if a few mass homicides is included in the mix, then The Thirteenth Prime wouldn't complain either.


	16. Chapter 4 - Part 4

PART 4  
#Blossom

He was stuck inside a slagging _box_. Had been for a few days already, and still counting nonetheless. For many more cycles than healthy had he been imprisoned, shackled and chained down to his dentas literally, and with his confinement's generous dimension of barely a mechano meter in height and even less in width, he had'd had to fold his upper body downwards and subspace most of his mass by staying – or stucking, more likely – in a semi-alt mode since the day he was thrown into brig, left to be forgotten and rot silently. His backstruts ached terribly everytime he even dared to activate their net sensors, something which he had already built up quite an immunity to, being a labourer miner and all. A large energon shackle cuffed his both servos, twisting them in a direction both unnatural and painful, kept crackling to life with electrical spikes, shocking his abused servo-joints to the point where they just burnt out and his repair system refused to fix it until he was free. His helm hadn't even been straightened out for decacycles consecutively, and as his optics had no other job to do than to serve as decorative ornaments, had slowly been decaying with unuse. Several of his illness conditions began showing up, from senseless purging to splitting processor-ache, but that wasn't to mention the worst of them all. After they had caught him, the Enforcers had installed some sort of inhibitor between his back platings, the only place his servos couldn't reach in this tight compartment, and intermittenly it had been causing flares of unimaginable anguish, both physically and mentally, waking him up in the midst of seldom recharges, screaming and wailing for mercy. Of course, like predicted, no one bothered coming to his aid, and he had been detained uninterruptedly since cycle one.

Oh, how he'd _love_ to snap some Enforcers' helm-joint and replenish from their warm, streaming flows of energon.

Unfortunately, that wouldn't be possible, unless he could somehow free himself. And a particularly painful static charge jolting his servos only served so well as a reminder of his current conditions. If only he could access his subspace compartment somehow…

Almost as if on cue, some of his back plating popped out with a signature sound of prolonged displacement, revealing conspicuous-looking exposed back cables and wiring of various functions.

He was desperate, and checking his inner chronometer again for the first time during his whole "unpleasant" stay, he read his vital readings as critically injured and constantly worsening from severe malnutrition, and he somehow suspected his frame had already broken down some non-major components to consume whatever energy it could digest from that. Well, he really couldn't blame self-carnivorism if it had been the only thing keeping him activated and functioning lately, despite how morally questionable that might be.

As he read his estimated time limit – something he wasn't even aware of having on his UI – shortened by various error diagnosis, he suddenly had an irresistable temptation to try anything to get out, partly due to his undying spirit of a true miner, but mostly thanked to the bleeping countdown of his probable lifespan telling him that in the best case scenario, he would last for 3 more cycles best, before deactivation would welcome him into its embrace.

That much was enough to push him over the teethering line of downright precarious and maniac, as the mech tried to slip a clawed talon into the exposed vents of his back casing. The whole process was entirely dangerously risky, seeing that not only would he injure himself internally with the slightest brush of sharp appendage against sensitive wiring, but he also risked alarming the Enforcers if his cut wasn't clean and precise enough to kill the inhibitor instantly. That, and his interface screen flashing red with intruding warning also didn't help much with his insecurity.

He still carried on nonetheless. At his insistent prodding into a random piece of sensitive appendage, his internal system brought up a schematic of the part's components. More than surprised to realize his processor had been storing such information somewhere without his acknowledgement, he caught whiff of a particular creative way of how he would take advantage of this.

It went somewhat simply, but the general concept was brilliant – if he did say so himself. He just stabbed gently whatever cables that his talon could sense in there, reasoning that if there isn't a warning notification popping up, then that particular string isn't from his internal mechanism. It took him nearly an entire joor just trying out randomly and self-harming himself in the process, but his efforts finally had come to fruition when a specific strand didn't give any sort of response no matter how hard he clawed on it.

 _Jackpot._

With a snap of his claw, the wire came off fairly easy, kind of anti-climatic considering the painstaking process of determining its whereabouts. Almost simultaneously, every sensor relay ever attached to his frame flared to life with deafening data readbacks, overwhelming his poor overclocked processor into a temporal freeze. It took nearly another full breem to organize where what sorts of data would go to, but he managed in the end and welcomed the much-needed peace into his own helm.

So _this_ was how it was supposed to feel like when there wasn't any inhibitor hindering his natural functions. It felt… _liberating_ , to say the least.

Deciding to save that for later, he focused his attention to the task at hand, which was only a piece of rust stick now that his subspace compartment wasn't rendered inaccessible under any inhibitor's effects. Pulling the blaster out with minimal difficulty, he carefully aimed it at the slackle chaining his servos and pulled the trigger-

-only to realize his hard-earned accomplishment was all for naught, as the blaster had come uncharged during the long decacycles of his confinement.

Muttering a few curses of choice, he raised his servos and was about to smash it full-force into the wall, bracing himself for the certainly unbearable pain of servo-joint displacement that would undoubtedly follow after, he was startled freeze in an awkward pose when a voice greeted him from nowhere.

"Hello beauty. Need another pair of unshackled servo?" A strange mech was prowling towards his cage in the dark, his voice taunting for someone with such a comparatively small built, based on what Megatron's unutilized optics could make out from the silhouette casting on the wall.

"Thanks, but no thanks. A recently charged blaster would be appreciated, though." Megatron yearned his entire frame back in his uncomfortable stance just to get a visual relay from the mech, but despite his effort the mech just seemed to blend right into his surroundings.

"Well, suit yourself. Catch!" The mech threw a yellow firearm through the air, which somehow uncannily landed right into the opened palm of his servos. Upon receive, he spent no more kliks idling around and freed himself in an instance. But when he turned around to shoot at the lock mechanism, the unsteady-looking thing, for the most part, remained intact, while the revolvement threw his balance off, sent him tumbling back his cage in a humiliating display of weakness. He half expected mocking laughter from the mysterious mech, but the only thing he got was an offering servo in return.

"You're exhausted, underfed, and low on reservance. Don't be so hard on yourself, not everymech is a superhero. Here, let me help you up." The mech stepped through the newly-cracked-lock and got down on one knee. His faceplate basked in the dimly-lit light of Megatron's own blood-red optics, revealed features of a young, but wise mech.

Meeting optics for the first time, Megatron just couldn't find a word sufficient to describe the mech, despite him being a mech of literacy and all. His processor just practically spaced out at the moment, and the best he could come up with was, however lame it was, "Erm… thanks?"

He felt utterly, blasphemously, uncontrollably nervous, for the first time ever in his life experiencing what others would describe as a "crush", surprised that even he himself couldn't escape from the mortal desires of lust and appearance attraction. Though if he had aquired psychic telepathy somehow, he would have learnt how hard Orion had fallen for him just as well.


	17. Chapter 4 - Part 5

PART 5  
#Acquainted

"Oof, you're heavy! Does every miner weight _this_ much?" Supporting half of Megatron's bulky built, Orion couldn't help but point out the obvious, to which he really didn't appreciate much.

"Shut up, you fool! Now get going, before they found us all!" He snapped, but more with annoyance than actual anger. To him, an incredibly short-fused miner, Orion eerily resembled a nuisance around the back of his helm, rather than an actual target. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to pay Orion any ounce of seriousness at all.

Escaping from his cage, Orion took the lead and led them both to a stretched corridor - which, in turn, was connected to a series of other, even longer, hallways, forming an inevitable maze that seemed to be missing a possible way out. Or at least, that was what Megatron concluded with his foggy-hazed processor, after his peds were numb from limping for too long.

"If I may indulge in the privilege of questioning your so called 'superior intellect', where _are_ we exactly?" He asked with a not-so-subtle tone of skepticism in his voice. Despite how calming Orion's timbre vocalizer sounded, years of mistrust and unease hadn't left him intact.

"If you don't trust me, then you're more than welcome to navigate your own getaway." Orion didn't retract the facemask covering his vents, but even so, he could hear the smug laughter bubbling beneath his steady pedfalls. _Afthole._

Seeing through the optimistic cover, Megatron wasn't a fool, no. Even with malfunctioning optics, he could make out droplets of energon from Orion's closed palm, and an inaudible grunt released everytime he accidentally brushed his servo on the shagged surface of his talons didn't went unheard either.

"You went through one heck of a struggle to get here, judging by the look of that nasty wound on your servo." It was just an observation made verbal, and after seeing so many wounds throughout his entire life Megatron shouldn't have found himself caring as much as he did. Strangely enough, he startled the both of them when he continued, "I could make it better, you know?"

"Excuse me?" Orion had to turn back and stare wild-eyed at him just for that last sentence. If he had an energon blade right then, he could cut through the thick awkwardness like slicing a diesel bar.

"Well, you _are_ leading me outside, are you not? I don't trust any injured mecha around me when the Enforcers actually found us, and based on our process uptil now I would say that's a very plausible outcome." Fortunately he recovered fast enough. Orion didn't seem to bite the bait, though.

"Is that a tinge of concern I'm detecting? Are you getting all mushy on me?" This time Orion actually retracted his face mask and stared Megatron in the optics. Damn, he was even more good-looking than Megatron had given any credit for. However, the timing _could_ be a little bit better, seeing that his absolutely perfect visual freezed up Meg's old lacking processor and gave him a very severe syndrome of glossa-tied.

"I… erggh… you're… um…" Megatron nearly shot himself just out of disgust. He _wasn't_ a random teenage femme, _wasn't_ even attracted to visual appealingness only a few joors ago, and most important of all he simply just _**wasn't**_ nervous talking to someone he _**didn't**_ have a crush on.

"Here, suit yourself." And incredulously enough, Orion extended his injured servo, liplates carrying a ghost of a smile, as if encouraging him to take it.

And he would be a fool not to pursue the opportunity when it presented itself.

* * *

Megatron wrapped another layer of bandage above to keep it steady. His digits, large, crude and rough just like to be expected from any hard labourer, was inconceivably gentle and soft on his skin. Each and every touch was both professional and yet somehow… affectionate at the same time, setting his digestion tank on a fiery pit of hot, smoldering fire, leaving him breathless. At that moment, slumped to the wall right then and there, he just wanted to turn around and make a go for it.

" _Snap out of it, Orion! You just met him like, about, 3 joors ago! You barely even know him!"_ His processor, his ego, super-ego, alter-ego, or whatever that narrating voice in his head was called, insisted patiently for him to drop his immature desires and act responsible for once.

"Well, sure enough I can make my own decisions!" He snapped. But unfortunately, rather out loud than inside his own helm, because Megatron met him with an inquery gaze.

"Sorry, I wasn't talking to you."

"So I've noticed."

And the awkward but amorously-arousing-as-pit silence returned. But this time, there was something in Megatron's voice that caught him off-guard. It sounded almost like… insecurity, or worriness, but just in a more corporeal form.

"Is there something wrong?" He was about to ask when Megatron hesitated a tad bit too long, but a clawed talon shot out to prevent his vocalizer from making a noise. And even the most dull mecha could understand what that meant.

He shut his facemask tight into its slot, optics meeting Megatron's with a grim affirmative, when the sound of an approaching Enforcer became more audible around the corner. Vorns of training with Yoketron had left some of his advanced cognitive senses sharper than most, and he could make out the sound of a blaster, primed and charged to lethal.

So they both reloaded theirs and got ready to engage.


	18. Chapter 4 - Part 6

PART 6  
#Delusional Reality

Orion ran. His pedfalls echoed across the vacant hallway, reveberating against metal walls, a staccato quick-paced with excitement and exhiliration, the thrill of being chased. Despite how bleak their situation was, he couldn't help but let out a yelp of ecstatic when a stray shot missed his helm only by an inch. Sneaking a peak behind, he was mildly surprised, and all the more adrenalized to push forward even harder, as the closest Enforcer was within a servo-reach distance to him.

A badly injured, yet somehow sane Megatron, having problem to keep up with him, didn't find being the target of assasination to be as amusing, as he was screaming profanities just as much as unloading rounds of blaster fire, to any living being around, Orion not excluded. "Snap out of it! They scraped your helm with blaster fire, not smashed your processor with a blunt hammer!"

"Just stop for a while and enjoy the chemical rush of survival, mech! Feel the energy flowing beneath your platings!" Orion was beaming this time, and Megatron just needed half another excuse to put an end to his new-found crush.

" _I repeat, cease futile escape attempt and surrender immediately, or we will be inclined to open fire!"_

"Well then, the next time you can go save **another** imprisoned mech who is **not** myself and enjoy the thrill of being shot to oblivion later! At the very least you could've told me there wasn't just one of them, but rather **A WHOLE SLAGGING ARMY INSTEAD!"** Megatron tried to shoot at the pursuer, but with both the Enforcers and he himself moving, his accuracy – which wasn't all that good to begin with – was reduced to instinctive reflexes. Hence why each of his shots only made contact with various inanimate objects and bounced back harmlessly at the intended target.

"Wow, look at you go, mech! Your aim is all messed up! Are you experiencing the unstable wave of incomprehensible delight too?" Orion even had the audacity to turn around and pretend to make a few half-hearted attempt to shoot at them, but just as expected he wasn't successful.

" _What do we do now?"_

" _We fight!"_

Swallowing the sudden temptation to strangle the mech to deactivation, Megatron mulled over his most recent life choices, and knew he shouldn't have listened to Orion's suicidal advice of taking an entire hoard of Enforcers head-on, especially when they were clearly overnumbered and overpowered at the moment. Though Megatron still wondered why he hadn't see that shot coming, or how it grazed Orion's helm, or such a bipolar effect that it could have had on the poor mech's processor.

Unfortunately, his brief endeavor at reminiscing over untaken opportunities had left him vulnerable for a moment, and that much was enough for their prosecutors to get a lucky shot in between, right at his servo joint.

The ill-placed shot displaced his joint socket, and without the inhibitor to dampen some sensor nets, he rided over a wave of unimaginable anguish that put him out of commision entirely, with a sickening "crack" to go with, being the last thing he could see or hear before his visual relays went black.

* * *

A terrible, terrible, horrible processor-ache welcomed him back to the land of the living. His helm felt like a muscular miner was banging on it full-force with the sharpest hoe he could ever think of, then dipped in condensed acidic solvent to disintegrate slowly, before left in vaccuum space for freezing temperature and rust to slowly decay. And even that didn't suffix to describe a tiny amount of pain in what he was enduring.

Tentatively, he opended his eyes with meticulousness he had never known in his short existence, and the flash of white light swarming his visual relays nearly overwhelmed him into a stasis-induced coma, before he could fight his mechanism and manually override the medical coding.

"Wait, what? Medical code? Since when did I have a medical code?"

"You have them because I installed them." Came the reply to his verbal musing, which startled the unfortunate concussed mech off his berth. Scrambled to his peds as quickly as he could, he made out an aproaching mech, with pristine-white paintjob and a portable built, probably a doctor of some sort. As his vision began clearing out, the blurry figure morphed into a short mech, and the red cross featuring his chestplate just confirmed his previous guess.

"I take it you fixed me?" He treaded lightly, not certain of the malicious intentions someone would gain from repairing him – a random miner, vorns of hard survival kicked in and he scanned the mech's frame for any hidden weaponries or damage-inducing instruments. He seemed to hesitate for too long, as his subtle attempt didn't go unnoticed.

"Very sharp a conclusion that you've put together. I assume you are one of the brightest bulbs what miner technology has to offer?" The mech, whose faceplate now visible to his recalibrating optics, bit back venemously, clearly offended by his display of mistrust. His brow crests crinkled to reveal such crankiness of an underage mech, who tried really hard at projecting a more senior presence, and yet still failed miserably. Megatron had to stiffle a laugh almost bubbling audibly from his vocalizer, ridiculed by his own intimidation of the young medical assistant.

"Ha! Teenagers and immaturity. I should've known better, with all that professional put-up nothing but for show-

Crank.

Faster than he could blink an optic, the mech had thrown a wrench at his helm. It resonated harmlessly at contact with his densly armored helmet, and fell next to his peds. Megatron would have laughed at that futile retaliation.

Except that he never got the chance to.

A short, brief, but devastating burst of pain registered on his helm's net sensors, and with his own sensitive wiring being yet so delicate from the latest incident, he collapsed to the ground in a ball of wailing, trembling and sobbing mess instantly while that much dreaded helm-ache returned to wreak havok on his processor with more ferocity than a pack of wild, hungry turbo foxes. He sobbed for nearly half a breem, before humiliation and self-preservance finally got the grown mech back on his ped, in a vain last resort to conceal his burst of weakness and femininity, just for him to stare directly in the other mech's faceplate, and witness his pride shattered to oblivion as the underage cackled gleefully.

Megatron knew it was extremely immature and inappropriate of him to do it, not to mention the disturbing faction of it all, all things considered. But he just couldn't resist the childish urge to turn away from the mech and pout, while stomping his peds on the ground like an infuriated sparkling.

The mech himself, though, seemed to think it was all the while even more amusing and recreational, as he struggled to get incoherent words through his unstoppable fits of gagged laughter. "That'd… that was the most… pussy scene someone had ever… thrown at my… clinic! Heck… you're even worse… than that 3-decacycle old femmling! Blargh, if only… that red psychopath… was awake enough to see his sparkmate like this…

"Excuse me for a moment." Megatron snapped out of his trance at the mention of Orion, like it had somehow acted as a blaring siren, a homing beacon to guide his way back to an anchorage of stability within the flux of life – heck, his literacy-spewing helm just couldn't pick a better time to intervene – and memories of their eventful escape came crushing back, with the promising telltale symptoms of an incoming processor overload that he just couldn't care enough about right now. "Where is him? How did we get here? What have you done to him? He's injured, have you healed him yet? He needs medical assistance! He needs-

"I've welded shut all of his major arteries, and so he is no longer in emergency, I assure you. Though that mech _really_ must've been the greatest _idiot_ of all, to actually _go_ and _try_ to save a miner from the Enforcer's lair, but then again he seemed a little bit… _off,_ in the helm, anyway… In fact, he is right over there, you can check out for yourself if you wanted. Geez, never have I seen such love-struck idiots ever, but you do really give the term "parental panic" a whole new layer of definition with your hyperventilation…" Megatron tuned him out at the mention of where Orion is lying about, and as he rushed to the only other occupied medical berth in the room, his spark skipped a pulse as he met optics with such a gory sight that even his dirty miner visions hadn't been acquainted with before.

Orion looked just like he had recently been to hellish underground levels of the pit and back, quite literally. His frame bore painful marks of an uneven struggle, like he was forced to battle an entire platoon of army all by himself, with much less reinforcement than there was extra dead weight to carry around. And yet, even deep in stasis, his servo still latched on Megatron's prodding digits tightly, palms curling and joints intertwined possessively with his. And above all, despite the hurting physical dents and scratches, his faceplate displayed a calm, relaxed posture, optics lightly shut and a serene ghost of a grin peaking underneath his cracked battle facemask. As if he had accomplished such an achievement, and couldn't be any less satisfied with taking all the damages on himself.

And when his optics powered on with a soft blue glowing hue, it spoke volume when the first thing it focused on was a pair of bloody red ones.


	19. Chapter 4 - Part 7

PART 7  
#Foundation

"Oh. You're awake." Megatron really didn't know what else to say to break the awkward ice, so he just kind of left it at that. Orion struggled to crook out a few incoherent words, but even so Megatron strained his audio receptors to the max sensitivity just to catch it. And he was a little skeptical of his own perception, as it sounded eerily similar to "frag me" of some sort, which Megatron really hope it didn't. He reluctantly acknowledged having something… extra with the other mech, but at the very least they hadn't advanced that far in their new fragile relationship.

Orion half sat up – or at least attempted to, his painful efforts hindered by ruptured hydraulic pumps and various monitor systems hooking through out his frame, covering helm-to-ped in thick, heavy cables. He still reached a servo out in Megatron's general direction though, and during the whole process never for once breaking optical contact with his own.

Fortunately, the medic broke in just in time for him not to embarrass himself any further by verifying what he definitely misheard, which his perverted processor somehow molded into his deepest lust. "Oh, you're _way_ in line for another check-up, and don't even bother with any illusion that I would let you go for one klik, because that ain't happen, when you're still leaking around _my_ medical berth. Now stay still!"

Ratchet shooed him out of his way, and it took his stunned, numb processor a moment to get him moving sluggishly. His optics lingered a fragment of a klik too long on Orion's visible injuries, and the medic must have noticed, for he switched to a more sympathetic voice, or at least one that wasn't as harsh and cruel as previous. "Come now, I need to tend to your bondmate."

Megatron was about to oppose to that particular one, but it just sounded so… natural, to be called like that. And besides, considering how much like a lovelorn teenager he had been acting, it shouldn't take a dull one that long to figure out their… something, and this medic definitely wasn't one. So instead he just resigned to silently mulling and stepped aside for the medbot to resume to his expertise.

"Hold on a klik… this one here… that one there… and whoop, there we go, a fully functioning vocalizer. Feel free to occupy the atmosphere while I work, because this will take long. Just, pretend that I'm not here, yes?" The medbot half directed that inquiry to Megatron, but it felt so authoritative that Megatron just felt like he had been ordered to speak on both of their behalves. He complied and understood why though, if he was supposed to look into the pile of crushed inner organs and severed energon lines that made up Orion's inner mechanism right then, he would need either some really, really aged high-grade, or something else just as distracting to take his mind off such gory display of brutality. If a rough miner he was couldn't bear staring without purging his fuel tanks, then Primus knew how horrible an effect that entire mess is having on the medic who is _familiar_ with those intricate parts, or at least their schematics and how they _should've_ looked like.

"So, Orion, erm… how do you feel?" Megatron regreted it the moment it escaped his vents, as he came to the dawning realization that _that_ probably wasn't the _best_ thing to ask a bed-ridden patient, especially someone who acquired all these wounds saving him, _and_ particularly when those wounds were still _leaking_ all over.

"What do you _think_?" Orion snapped back. Megatron relinquished in that tiny speckle of relief that at the very least his processor alignment seemed to have been dealted with. He contributed that to the ever-growing pile of things to thank the medic for, and made a mental note to question the mech's designation later so that he could stop refering to the mech with vague pronouns.

"How did we get here?" He asked instead.

"Yeah, I'm a bit curious on that too. How did you know my place, not to mention that I would actually bother _helping_ you? Y'know, with yourself nearing stasis from energon-loss and hauling the dead weight of an obese miner and all, I figure it must've been quite a challenge?" The medic piped in, only hlaf paying attention to the ongoing conversation as he was replacing a burnt-out fuse from Orion's audio receptor.

Orion furrowed his brow in deep concentration, but yielded no result. "Well, my memory files are all blurry. Ratchet, can you do something about it first?" His helm cover popped open, an invitation for the professional to take a look.

"Let me see. Oh, wow, oh, Primus, that is _one_ -

The medbot manually snapped his helm shut, resetted his optics a few times as if to flush the graphic image out of his visual cortex, before meeting their own questioning glances solemnly. "I believe your processor suffered an extensive damage to the logging core, resulting in your lost of short-term memory. I apologise, but that is just too much to repair anyway."

"Wait, does that mean…" Megatron didn't dare to finish that conclusion. Orion _couldn't_ be incapacitated for rescuing him, there was no way he would ever live with himself for that. Meeting his tentative uncertainty was Orion's own insecurity, flashing in his blue glitching optics. The mech was visibly shaken from the news, his facial features semi-concealed but unsuccessfully signs of a panic attack.

"No, you fools! It's just that specific area, not his entire memory cortex! Oh, for the love of Primus, stop being such drama queens and GET ON WITH THE SLAGGING STORY!" Ratchet's servo hovered threateningly close to the heavy wrench, coercing Megatron into his next question for fear of the infamous wrench-throw from the impatient medic. "Just… tell me whatever you can recall, alright? No need to push."

"Not much, as far as I can think of." Then Orion took a deep breath, before accessing his intact memory logs, "You blacked out, I had to grab you and dodge into a nearby ventilation shaft. The Enforcers kept rushing onwards, but few of them were clever enough to stay behind and scan the area. They were about to find us, when-

"When what?" Megatron pried softly, anticipation burning his own gestation tank on a pit of fiery coal. Even Ratchet stopped fiddling with the microwielder to listen in more carefully. The air was filled to the brim with curiosity, thick enough to be sliced through with an energon blade.

"When… when… sorry, I can't remember." Orion's faceplate was then bearing a resigned expression, exhausted from the short memory excersise on his damaged processor. Megatron felt partly guilty for pushing a tad bit too hard, but he still felt the need to find out what had happened.

"Don't just stop. Tell me. How did we get out?" He probed again, despite Ratchet's stern disapproving look. To his own utter dismay, Orion actually snapped in response.

"How the heck am I suppose to remember? Perhaps _you_ could've been more attentive to the situation at hand rather than dropping like a dead weight at my side, and then you'd understand how being shot IN THE SLAGGING HELM CAN AFFECT YOUR MEMORY!" Orion bristled with unadulterated, unfiltered rage, his entire frame trembling in self-restraint that forced Ratchet to pause on his work to take a reluctant step backwards.

"That's ok for now. You're still injured. Rest. I'll deal with here myself." The medbot let out a huff of annoyance as he shot Megatron a glare while trying to sooth an unstable Orion. His digits had been tapping furiously onto the interface of a medical datapad, probably preparing demobilizing injections to subdue Orion once his aggravation breached into violent manifestation. Fortunately it didn't reach that far out of hand.

"For your information, he stomped in here hauling you pretty much slagged up, screaming profanities and demanding medical assistance for _you_ rather than his own leaking frame," Ratchet paused to let it sink heavily, "and hung insistently onto consciousness until you are properly settlled onto one of the berths, before collapsing out of exhaustion and energon-loss. He even dared to intimidate me with a menacing tone", here he shot Orion a questioning optic, "to make sure I take proper care of you, and if that wasn't heroic bondmate sacrifice then I don't know what is. So you'd better back off and give him some time, show him some of the apprieciation that he so deserved, and he will come to terms in time, alright?" Satisfied with playing the unwanted marriage-yet-to-be counselor, the medbot returned to his delicate machinery work.

"For the last time, we are _not_ -

Whatever Megatron meant to protest was drowned out by the radio frequency flaring to life. _"… wild disorientation at TR217-EM section of the mining complex in the third district of Tarn. The source of this disorder is currently being investigated, but local Enforcers had reported radioactive-positive assessment level 3XE56TG being recorded in the general area surrounding scene of ordeal. Further cause remained unknown, but might very possibly be related to this leaking incident somehow. Meanwhile, any civilians are under rigorous restrictions not to advance any closer to the contaminated area than a radius of 12 mechano meter…"_

Silence reigned over Ratchet's clinic for nearly a breem, as the news were digested individually. And it took another full breem for them to connect the dots.

"Wait… isn't that _my_ mining complex?"

"Isn't that where we _just_ got out from?"

"Isn't that the highest-level radioactivity caused only by raw exposure of pure, concentrated and unfiltered energon with gaseous methane?

 _Ping._

"Orion!" This time both Megatron and Ratchet stared bewildered at the injured mech, who offered a sheepish grin in return.

"Yeah, about that… I… erm… _might've_ cut lose a few methane-expelling tube on our way out?" He breezed through the rest in one breath.

Before they even got a chance to berate the mech, the radio frequency crackled to life frantically. _"…_ _help! Help! Free miners running wild! They've overcome the security system and have breached the inner circle! We require instant reinforcement! I repeat, insubordinate miners crisis! The Enforcers have all been overpowered and subdued! We require instant reinforcement! We require- argh!"_

The message ended just as abrubtly as it had started, leaving them shell-shocked and none the worse for wear, medic and/or patient and/or miner alike.

"Someone's _got_ to deal with that." Ratchet remarked grimly.

"No, wait. Those are _my_ brothers! We can't just leave them in that radioactive area!" Megatron began panicking, pacing on his peds around the med bay and eventually falling into routine cycles.

"Are you _glitching_? They are savage, brutal miners!"

"Savage my aft! Have I dismantled you yet?"

"You would've, if I hadn't put you into medical stasis, you ungrateful filthy piece of junk!"

"You dared to-

"Enough!" Orion's thundering bellow spreaded out the med bay, resonating through the walls and reveberating back at them, effectively ending the ferocious argument turned violent. Then, turning to Ratchet, he addressed the medic calmly, "You took an oath back in your undergraduate cycles, stating you would never abandon a spark to deactivation if you can help it, am I not correct?"

"Yes, but-

"Think. If this wasn't the miners, but a bunch of young, underage orphan sparklings, would you leave them outside the radioactive zone?"

"No! I would never-

"Then you wouldn't do this to the miners, who I had to remind you that, got their own creators seperated from them since birth, were barely given any sort of proper education, and put to work long, hard joors of manual labour repeatedly every cycle. If that isn't self-explanatory for their violent behavior and vicious tendencies, then give me a better one to differentiate them from 3-decacycle-old younglings."

"I… urgh… fine! So they're not worth being deactivated, so? There's still no place that could probably hold that much mecha without collapsing instantly on their joint weight!"

But Orion already had his optics focused on another point of interest. Activating his blaster, he took a shot at the clinic wall, much to everyone's surprise. The shot impacted cement, crumbled and opened a giant hole on the wall-

-into an empty abyss of darkness, an entire vacuum of space inside that must be at least 30-mechano-meter tall, twice for its width, and even tripple for its length.

"Huh, knew the sound was off. Heya Ratch, ever known of this?"

Orion took Ratchet's shock-freezed faceplate as a firm, nonverbal negative.

"That could hold the miners. I'll get them." Megatron shot away like a bullet, but before he could make it to the entrance Orion was already on his peds, much to Ratchet's outrage, holding the mech back with an injured servo.

"We must be wise about this. No point in being irrational."

"Bullslag! Let go of me!"

"No! You listen! If they come here, we have to be the ones in control, and they have to follow our orders, not the other way around."

"That's just plain-out dictatorship, and you know it!"

"Hey, listen! You were with them longer than I or anyone else in this room ever had. You knew how they were like. Tell me they weren't impulsive, reckless, suicidal, or aggressive."

"I…

"Then listen. We keep them here, for safe-keeping, to give them a place to stay, to hide them from the government's active pursuit, but _not_ to let them overrun the place. Do you understand?"

Their optics met, and Megatron saw steel conviction in those blue flames. So all the arguments just died out on his glossa, and the mech wordlessly heeded Orion's leadership.

"Listen, if we do this right, they can be our proponent force in this unending war against the Council. Not outright militaristic, but political, is that acceptable terms to you?"

Megatron wordlessly nodded. But rather than let him go, Orion turned around to give the same questioning gaze at Ratchet.

"What, me? You're asking _me_ for permission?"

Meeting both Orion and Megatron's grim expression, he got no choice but to go with the flow. "Yeah, alright, as if we all don't have a clue about how corrupted the Council really is. Yes, I'm willing to support this… rebel you're having, but _only_ if it's strictly peaceful negotiation _only_."

Orion, pleased with his response, turned back to an anxious Megatron. "Go save them. Bring them here."

"I shall."


	20. Chapter 4 - Part 8

PART 8  
#Confession

~ 3 stellarcycles after the rescue~

"Move everyone, move! We're about to finish up here! Just one more reinforcement installed and we're complete!"

His encouragement was met with enthusiastic cheers, provoking exuberant reactions from the miners. As they sped up their work process, Megatron counted down the cycles in his helm – they were only cycles away from having a place to truly call "home". The miners were finally at peace, and for the first time ever since his activation, Megatron felt actual hope and delightment, a feeling so surreal and yet just as tangible, almost as if he could felt it pumping across his veins and flowing freely in the air, leaving everymech under the euphoric sensation of excitement. They worked hard, almost as much as back in the mines, but rather than under a sense of obligation, they all wore a thin smile on their liplates, silent songs of triumphant made audible by conjunctive sparkpulse which Megatron's own radiated joyous warmth at.

He still couldn't believe they had advanced so far, in such a short period of time. Even back in the cycles when everything was bleak, he'd always harbored the dream of an eventual freedom that would come, but such unfounded illusions were cruelly shattered in the face of brutal reality. He would have never believed even for one astroklik that today he would be standing here, monitoring over the construction of the miners' very own home. Neither would he put faith in any random mecha, even in the slightest bit, that he could possess the ability to liberate them from slavery and bring them justice. All that despair used to chain his life in shackles, until the very one mech had proven otherwise.

He could never describe how grateful he was to Orion, his – their – savior, leader, commander and adviser. Nor could he mutter up the courage to confess the true depth of his unplatonic emotions in the face of said mech. And that in itself had been troublesome enough a problem to him lately, especially even more so now that Orion is back on his peds and running errands around their new-found base.

"Hey there, still thinking my plans for converging the empty socket into a headquarters an unrealistic joke?" He blinked an optic at Megatron while passing him, on his way to deliver another crate filled with refreshments to the builders off-shift. Of course, he could have sat in a corner and relaxed in his office anytime, taken into account the fact that he is literally their superior leader, but he prefer to interact directly with the miners to help out as much as possible. When questioned, Orion always replied with a vague "I want to help them", without elaborating any more helpful details in his energetic tasks. Though no matter the cause, Megatron still enjoyed it this way, being able to observe the mech's fluid frame across the cramped room while still performing his duty at hand.

"Come now, anyone! I need a fragging pair of assisting servo, and in MY CLINIC which is full of hunky mecha SOMEONE BETTER COME NOW!" The muffled, barely audible voice coming from the locked chamber of Ratchet's workspace reflected stark contrast to Orion's behavior. Acting as the official and legal owner of the place, Ratchet was also their only medic, and miners weren't usually known for their careful, self-preserving tendencies. Just for that simple fact, and the obvious reluctance of any other qualified medic in town when it came to treating injured miners – not to mention those who were actively on the run from the Council's pursuit – Ratchet held just as much authority as Orion, eventhough his commands weren't as appreciated – or complied - as much as Orion's own. The mech spent his entire cycle locked up behind his personal quarters, welding minor injuries that his rough friends tend to acquire in their questionable working shifts, and hardly ever peak around the corner for even a split-nanoklik, just to scream profanities at them for misplacing some of his medicinal instrument.

"Well, that's Ratchet alright. I better go see what he needed then. Would you mind dropping this crate to the thirsty mecha on break?" Orion passed him the box with a blooming grin on his liplates, one that took away his vent and evoked all those unsettling-organic-creature-with-flappy-appendage in his fuel tanks. He seemed to freeze for too long, as Orion just took his silence as a firm possitive and left the package on his fiddling sevos, walking away in the general direction of Ratchet's quarters, not hesitant to wave back at a few miners on his way.

Megatron was at a lost for words, and his sluggish processor couldn't form any coherent thought that _didn't_ involve them in an explicit position. Of course, too caught up in Orion's shrinking backside, he totally missed out on the staring miners, or how they kept sniggering to themselves and giving him the teasing optics rather than pulling any weight on fixing the wall. Megatron was so thoroughly caught up in the lingering touch that Orion's servo brushed with his own left, a tingling sensation that wasn't entirely unwelcomed. In fact, to be bluntly frank, he would say it was ecstatic and stimulating as pit, as he received several warnings about system malfunction and error coming from internals that are unnaturally close in perspective to his groin area.

He was so, so distracted from his duty, from the miners, or from the world in general, when a small electrical zap shocked him back into consciousness, and the fact he hadn't even flinched spoke volume about how deeply entranced he was. Reaching down to inspect the cause of electrical voltage, he found a small message protruding out from one of his wrists' seams. As he removed it cautiously and plugged it into his medical port, he was a bit startled to hear Orion's familiar tenor.

"Meet me in the deep tunnels, after sunset."

So he quickly concealed the datachip from intruding optics and set a mental alarm for 2000 joor planetary cycle-wise, before picking up the neglected crate and resumed to his task at hand.

* * *

Dark, long, endless tunnels seemed to lead into oblivion, an abstract reminder of his own guilt after the whole incident with _Shockwave_. Shrugging it off and hiding most of the eventful memories at the back of his helm before burrying them deep in layers of boring Archivist exercises back in the cycles of Academic training, he pressed forward.

Exercises that Orion used to indulge in so much, but wasn't appreciated as much as by _Shockwave_.

"Urgh! THIS! IS! SO! SLAGGING! FRUSTRATING! Why can't I forget him!?" He growled out loud his concern, unable to bear it within for much longer. He made an amateur mistake, to not check his surroundings for any stalker before bellowing out his deepest secret.

"Orion?" Megatron slowly stepped out of the dark, his facial plates displaying signs of confusion. Orion cursed inwardly, realizing all too late what he just revealed unintentionally.

"Orion? Talk to me. What is it?" Megatron closed their distance, and invaded his personal space just a bit too tight for comfort. His bigger frame loomed over Orion's own swift one, and his faceplate was set in grim determination, which Orion dared to guess was at prying the truth out of his own vents.

"It was nothing." He covered up his track desperately, and shock blanched his face white when he realized his next biggest mistake of replying too fast.

"C'mon. Spill it. I know you're hiding something." Megatron didn't bulge for even a fragment of a nanoklik, and Orion felt cornered, both mentally at the game their playing and physically at the strong, muscular built of the miner flushing against his sensitive chest plate.

"No, really! It was nothing! I'm sure you must have misheard something." Orion swallowed a ventful of thick solvent, his worriness uneased by Megatron's skepticism. He would _deactivate_ mecha for a good – no, any, actually – distraction right then.

And fortunately he had already prepared one before their confrontation, so he smirked as two can play at that game.

"I believe _I_ am the one to question here. I have caught evidences of you and your suspicion-provoking behaviour, unbefitting of a rebel co-leader. So _you_ better tell me what it's all about, or this little thing we're organizing will topple over in jeopardy at any time." Regaining his ground, Orion took a step forward, pushing Megatron back in a defensive stance.

"What do you-

"Don't even attempt to reflect this on me. Did you really think I held this meet-up without attaining any solid evidence beforehand?" Orion had already got him, and both of them _knew_ it.

An air of resignation bristled through the empty tunnels, creating the eery sound of a tormented howl, whose effect was magnified over a hundreds at the all-consuming darkness surrounding them. Megatron took a shaky breath, then sat down on one of the shagged surface of a large boulder and gestured for Orion to mimic. Doubtful, he followed suit, but kept a wary optic on his opponent just in the worst-case scenario.

"Alright then. I know this is probably hard to hear, or to even comprehend, but I… erm…am kinda… fascinated, by… urg…y…yo…you." There, he said it. Megatron bluffed out an air of relief to be rid of his heaviest weight, but the reaction he received from Orion just made it all worse.

"Excuse me, WHAT?"

* * *

Author's warning: story rating might go up for the next chapter, for mention of adult-theme content. Nothing too explicit, so don't be too worried.


	21. Chapter 4 - Part 9

PART 9  
#Revelation

"So…

Orion trailed off in awkward silence, painfully aware of how both of them uncharacteristically behaved to their latest revelation. The situation fairly resembled that of a cheesy rom-com, one that he used to laugh at the ridiculousness of how unrealistic such a scenario could possibly be. Of course, back in the cycles when he was an Academy trainee, the thought of breaking through a dungeon with the highest security measures and co-leading a political rebel would be absent even from his wildest dreams.

"I…um… honestly, I don't have any single idea on how to react to something like this." He lamely ended his half-hearted attempt at normalizing the conversation, but only success at making it even worse. Cringing at his own words, he found Megatron meeting his optics reluctantly, but a tiny spark of determination flashed in those deep hue of red.

"To be frank, I've been harbouring these feelings for you ever since that day you broke me out of the dungeon." Megatron then gave him a friendly grin, as if to make his confesions seem more authentic, but that wasn't necessary. Orion had already caught glimpses of evidence back then, and unknowingly his spark pulse began echoing Megatron's vibrant, anxious one, as a strange sensation of glee filled his fuel tank.

Not to be detered from, Megatron quickly continued. "You came for me, a nameless miner, to free me from the chains of slavery and into your holding servos – quite literally, might I say." His brief chuckle radiated with indescribable pride, and Orion's spark just melted a bit more.

"You came to me, while neither had met, nor to be acquainted. You risked yourself bringing me out of there alive, heedless of whatever damage you took. You _suffered_ because of me-

Megatron took a step closer - Orion hadn't even realized how they were both on their peds at the moment – and closed their distance to a servo's reach.

"You - made Ratchet, which was a very close thing anyway – healed me, and you took me into your wildest ambition, while I was in despair, desperate, and blind. You gave me energon to digest, a steady shelter to recharge under, and _a_ _plan_ to believe in. You let me save my brothers, made me their leaders, gave me a _position_ where I can actually _belong_ to – you gave me _a_ _home._ "

Megatron stepped even closer, invading his personal space – which, strangely, he found himself entirely comfortable with – and met his optics with absolute conviction, when he spoke inaudibly soft. " _You_ are my home."

In a fragment of a nanoklik when Orion's processor nearly crashed from the overwhelming sentiments, Megatron decided to make his move. He put a servo on Orion's shoulder platings, caging him in his strong hold. Everywhere Megatron made contact, a flurry of butterflies tickled his own plating, and the weird but not unwelcome sensation only served so well to make Orion even more relaxed in his partner's servos.

"But most important of all, you made me realize there was _hope_ , and you taught me how to trust again. To not let the negativity of the world consume you, and to keep on fighting the good fight even when every odds are against you." Megatron turned his helm softly to stare directly at Orion's faceplate, a wavering half-grin on his liplates. "You are the epitome of invincibility, the perfect image of an ideal leader, and the physical incarnation of justice itself in metal and energon. You represent our hope – my hope, for a future changed for the better."

Megatron leaned even closer to him, until their distance was shortened to less than an inch. Orion could practically _feel_ Megatron's warm vents of air on his faceplate, flushing his own faceplate pink, and he basked in the mech's vibrant tenor.

"You are _everything_ to me," Megatron placed a caressing digit on his forehelm.

"The stationary planet to my orbitual satellites," It trailed a line over his inactivated battle mask, along the thin seam that connects his audio receptors with his antenna, sending shivers of sensitive response up his spinal cortex.

"The center of gravitational field that repulses me towards with its every single moment of existence," It ran over the scars that he acquired after that last dreadful battle with the Enforcers, and Megatron's expression softened, in sympathy to his own endurance.

"The spark to my processor, and the finishing piece that _completes_ me." As he stressed the last syllable, Orion found himself shaking in anticipation for the certainty. The digit on his faceplate tightened, and Megatron swiftly offlined his optics for the moment to come naturally.

Their liplates interlocked.

* * *

"Hey there."

Megatron onlined to the soft whiring of his partner's engine, a warm servo coiled firmly around his waist, their peds entwined tightly, Orion's helm weighing down on his chestplate, a comfortable reassurance on his spark that all of it wasn't just a berthtime fantasy that he made up. Calibrating his optics, the first relays he received was a handsome visage of Orion. Of _his_ Orion.

A wave of possessiveness ran through his frame, and he placed his clawed talons on Orion's back, embracing him in a secure lock of unintelligible limbs. Orion didn't seem to notice so much, so he took the liberty of tightening his servohold a tad bit more.

"You awake?" He managed to croak out, voice strained and hoarse from the recent overuse of his vocalizer for reasons prefered unmentioned.

"Yeah, I can't really recharge. Sorry if I woke you up…

"Hey there." Megatron interrupted his mate's self-blaming mid-rant to fix him a stern disapproving look. "It's okay. We're in this together. We'll deal with whatever it is together, okay?" He tried his best imitation of an encouraging look, and judging by Orion's hesitant smile it was pretty effective.

"Yeah. Thanks, love. But this is something you _can't_ change." His face turned serious. Almost solemn, even.

"What do you mean?" Megatron was confused. "I think you didn't understand what I just said. I said _we_ will deal with it together, whatever it is."

"It's not that simple, it's just…" Orion trailed off, his faceplate an enigma of deep concentration.

"Tell me. Please." This time he insisted, with more force than was necessary, that pretty much left no place for arguments.

"Alright. Well…" Orion struggled visibly to begin unraveling his secret, so Megatron didn't have much trouble connecting the dots.

"It has something to do with Shockwave, doesn't it?" At Orion's widening optics, Megatron required no further affirmation.

"I know there's a lot of stuff yet to do, but one day the rebel will be strong enough to go against that monster. We will burn him and any other Councilmech to the ground right where they belong, isn't that right love?" He expected to relieve his sparkmate from whatever uncomprehensible stress that he was under, but was bewildered when guilt and uneasiness, mixed with an unhealthy dose of pain and sorrow, crept over Orion's facial expression.

"No! We won't… we won't do anything of the sort. We won't, I won't let us. There's definitely _something_ that we can do that _doesn't_ involve termination. There _has_ to be something…"

"Orion-

"No! There _has_ to be something…" Orion's ramble turned frantic, words flowing too fast to be audible, mostly incoherent and unintelliglible. Megatron felt cold, frozen terror leaking from within his side of the bond, and had to clamp it shut. His frame began shivering in fear, and he had to tighten his hold on the mech while bringing his inner thermostat a few degree up. Apparently, the increased heat wasn't as effective as he originally thought it to be.

"Calm down, Orion. We're still in the tunnels, I'm still here with you. We haven't deactivated any mech yet, so calm down, okay? I've got you. You're safe here with me." He cautiously opened up the bond bit by bit, pulsing reassurance and safety over. It did little to actually calm the mech, but at least he could feel his pain subsiding by the slightest.

"Orion? Talk to me. Please." He pleaded softly, while making direct optic contact with Orion and running soothing circles on his back. Despite all his efforts, something was still blocking the bond from Orion's side, preventing any of his gestures and notions to pass through. Orion was there, but gazing into the distance, mumbling an unintelligible monologue and seizing from time to time, almost as if he was lost somewhere.

It was eerily similar to the symptoms an emotionally-triggered mech would display, reprogressing traumatic memory logs.

So Megatron did what he had to do. He carefully pried open Orion's medical port and insert an interconnecting drive in its slot. Almost instantly, he was overwhelmed with the flurry of Orion's immunity firewalls blocking his attempts at delving further. A fickle of surprise colored the bond, and he felt partly guilty to even think of this, but he had no other choice.

He hacked through the walls, reducing Orion into emergency medical stasis and access his bondmate's memory cache. As his frame went limb on his servos, he gently laid the mech down, before pulling full processing power on decrypting the files he found.

He saw images. Images of a purple, mono-opticed mech, of an academy complex, of an entire life of an Archivist. Then it was short, dangerous trips to some sort of lab, stealing equipment, and delivering them all to a private destination. Short, ragged recollection of being on the run, followed by hard, tiring manual labor over a seaside dock.

He continued unraveling Orion's life story, one memory after another, too deeply entranced that he didn't notice a fickle of consciousness travelling through the connection and nestling inside his own processer. It went hiding under layers of motor cortex and heavy coding, before becoming inactive.

The Thirteenth Prime was satisfied for now.

Megatron unpluged after he was done, and Orion came online sluggishly with a loud groan. He flashed Megatron a questioning pair of optics, confusion and surprise flashing on his side of the bond.

He didn't _remember_ anything.

"Hey there, love. You up already? For how long? And did anything happen while I was offline?"

"Nah, just senseless pampering you to oblivion." Megatron half-smirked, while giving his partner's aft a good groping for extra measure.

Learning the truth to Shockwave's relationship with his sparkmate, he deemed it a risk to their entire cause, and so took the liberty of not mentioning it ever again, if the topic is ever to be brought up.

The Prime was proud that his newest host had fulfilled his deeds even without his influence.


	22. Chapter 4 - Part 10

PART 10  
#Autobots

~ 13 stellar cycles after ~

Deep below the surface of Cybertron laid what was considered a wonder of architecture, of mechkind revolutionary. It breached deep underground, extensive tendrils of tunnels snaking through large, strong pillars, preserving a touch of a once golden era. Tunnels were diligently built and heavily reinforced, capable of enduring nuclear warheads at ease. From the surface downwards, unreveled consecutive layers of infrastructure perfection, down to each and every stray bolt. If a planetary-scale explosion was ever to take place, this would be the safest place to take refuge in throughout the entire planet itself.

But its magnificence wasn't entitled only to its steady composition. The underground complex spreaded across the planet in a straight, forward tunnel, branched with interconnecting pathways to other sections of the enclosed perimeter, forming an invincible underground fortress in all its glory. From there, the heavily outnumbered rebels might _actually_ stand a chance against their dictatorial adversary.

The system was so developed that its existence, despite the rebels' attempt at discretion, was common knowledge to any mecha walking the planet's surface. Either from the not-so-subtle vibration caused by constructive machinary, or be as it may even from a lousy miner that couldn't feign anonymity given the counter-effect of high grade, it was an indisputed fact that the system had been a very intriguing topic of gossip as of late. From tower nobles to lowlife labourers, no one was skeptical of the procastinated rise of rebelious activities in a very near future.

To question remained, however, that what was the best route of action to take in advance of this phenomenon, in order to benefit from it? The poor mecha all rised up to the call, primed and ready to heed any revolutionary wave and aid in its wake. The tower nobles continued to act indifferently towards it, similar to how they would brush off any irrelevant factor that _actually_ influence their own personal world. The councils, however, were quite unsettled with this inevitable occurence, and decided that any risk attaining even the slightest probability of overuling their reign should deserve overemphasized paranoia to the highest extreme, and therefore the security levels of any and all public venues were tripled in number and quadrupled in intensity – in the case scenario that the same mecha who devised such complexity were incompetent enough to visit a community lot without proper disguise and discretion.

At first, they had even attempted to plan a direct assault on the rebels, but had encountered hindrance in the first step of locating the underground system by using various technology equipment. Even Senator Shockwave himself declared such a conjectural search was impractical and would be very likely to yield no clear result if their only inputs were soft vibrations of the ground. Moving onwards, the High Council of Iacon had outright announced any proponent of the rebels an active antagonist of the Cybertronian civilization, and would be exterminated at sight. Of course, no mecha had actually been in direct contact with any of the underground miners, so the Enforcers barely had any solid evidences to legally apprehend an exuberant labourer for vocalizing profanities at the Council.

That didn't mean the _real_ rebels weren't affected, though. Due to restricted joors of transport circulation on highways - yet another meritorious effort of Senator Shockwave - acquiring Energon from their sympathizers no longer remained a numbing, menial task, but rather a challenging risk that was unavoidable. Though mainly unheard of, the number of casualties resulted in a confrontation with the Enforcers began racking up on both side, prompting them both into hostile behaviour towards each other, each side with accumulating hatred and abhorrence for one another. Mecha no longer dream of a long-lasting equality, but rather a peaceful survival and a sustainable income of energon instead. They couldn't even come closer to the surface than 30 mechano meters, for fear of a sparkpulse scanner giving away their hideout. Consequentially, all exits to the outside world had to be sealed tight and camouflaged to avoid raising suspicion, and the miners' only way out of their labyrinth was through Ratchet's medbay.

In general, they were having a rough time sheltering from the Government's stringent pursuit and surviving on limited ration.

* * *

"I am not tolerating this any longer!" Exclaimed an exasperated Megatron, his thunderous vocalizer booming across the spacious conference hall of the rebels' intelligence department. "I am not standing in an underground vault arguing with you all about whether or not to pull an assault on these _monsters_ who deactivated nearly half of my brothers _in the last decacycle_!" He brought a large, calloused servo down on the metal table, creating a large dent and an equivalently painful _"crack"_ upon impact.

"But look at us! The rest of us, put together and multiplied tenfold, assuming full-health recovery from all of the currently injured, would barely be a match for a small platoon their untrained cadets, and that, in itself, had been an over-assumption made from a subjective point of view FROM THE ONLY SLAGGING COMPETENT MEDIC STUPID ENOUGH TO REMAIN ON OUR SIDE!" The infamous medical officer stood up from the slab of stone he was resting on, optics meeting Megatron's in direct authoritative challenge. His optics flashed with a blue hue of steel conviction, though servos twitching in indicative symptoms of strenuous exertion. For the last few cycles Ratchet had been overworking himself trying to revive the mortally injured from their last unsuccessful raid, but to no prevail, as most of them held on through the first off-cycle only to deactivate peacefully within the next.

"Hey! Hey! We are all on the same side here, so stop yelling at each other, would you all?" Orion tried to interfere, but his attempts yielded little to no effect, especially in the face of such unstoppable force of nature such as the raging CMO and his leader counterpart.

"Well then, I believe it is in our best interest to remind this brute of your recruitment about that particular information, SEEING AS HE WAS MORE THAN EAGER TO REMOVE MY HELM FROM MY FRAME!" Ratchet all but exploded right then and there, if not for Orion's steel grip on the mech's servo.

"Oh, I WILL remove your helm, alright. And I'll do it in more ways than you could ever imagine." Megatron met the accusation head-on, his optics gleaming with a promised death threat. Despite his immobility, there was still something in his vocalizers that struck fear down into the core of every spark, as Orion felt the medic trembled imperceptively under his servo.

"Alright, alright! Take a chill stick, everyone! Meeting temporarily adjourned." At his decision, mecha fllowed out of the room instantly, their faceplate an expression of relief, which Orion really sympathized with. Unfortunately, he wasn't as lucky, as when he blended into the long line of dispersing mecha, he was met with two pairs of menacing optics, and a stern accompanying disapproval.

For good measure, they held on very tightly, and dared he to say painfully, on his shoulder platings, until everymech was out of the room and the conference hall returned to its rightful serenity. Somehow, the look both of his comrades were giving him guaranteed that exact peace will be short-lived.

"Okay… for the record, I _really_ am in desperate need of a restroom break, so if you would excuse me-

"Knock it off! If we don't reach a compromise soon, it's not just your waste tank, but _our entire system_ would be desperate!" Ratchet fixed him a lethal stare, one that he tried really hard and still failed anyway at not shrinking back from.

"Orion, listen to me. We need your leadership ability right now, or the underground system would come apart and all that we've accomplished would be for not. Please, help us." Megatron went surprisingly soft on him, and with the gentlest tone he had ever heard muttered from the mech's gruff vocalizer, and his spark fluttered violently in response to the yearning bond they shared. Their bonding had, originally, meant to be kept as a secret, but it didn't take much more than a medical spark scan for Ratchet to catch on with the latest buzz. Since then, they had no problem displaying their affections in front of the medic, which aggravates him to no end, much to both of their personal entertainment.

"Alright, sure. I get it that we need to take action. But we can't just outright take the entire Enforcers head-on, for that would be nothing short of suicidal. And if we hesitate for too long, there _won't_ even be a shelter for us to stay under. I can't make this call." Orion sighed in resignation, tired and stressed out of all the strain put on his leading position.

"Just do what feels right to your spark." Advised his bondmate. He extended a large servo to brush against Orion's cheekplate, and all of a sudden Orion just fell for the mech a hundred times harder.

A fresh surge of motivation ran its course through Orion's entire frame, and he set his determination to see them through this ordeal, if just for the sake of their possible future together. He had been dreaming of an incoming day when they would be joining each other in a religious matrimony, becoming sacred Conjunx Enduras, and have a family to call their own. He had traveled too far to be stopped now. All of them had.

"Wait… stop… Yes! Briliant! Why didn't I think of this earlier? Mecha, I think I might have just found us a way out of this mess!" Orion exclaimed, his face bright in happiness, meeting both of the others' own confused ones. "We can't _make_ the laws go away, _or_ make more energon ourselves, isn't that correct?"

"I don't see where you're going with this-

" _But_ , there's _no_ regulation on how Enforcers are to process their Energon ration, or to move around Cybertron, as long as they're in the pursuit of our wherabouts, isn't it?"

"Well, true, but I fail to see how that would benefit us-

"But, if any of us, heck, even any other mecha _not_ the nobles or the Councilmecha themselves, try to trepass the barrier with even _one_ ped-

"They, along with their entire association who were automatically registered as affiliates, would be stopped. Before they even _had_ the intention of doing so." Megatron seemed to catch up with his furious train of thought as he finished his sentence. Ratchet, however, didn't have as much luck.

"So, say, if I'm an Enforcer and I have the intention of crossing the borders illegitimately-

"The system would instantly put the entire area on lockdown, but your privileged status as an Enforcer-on-duty would still allow you to pass anyway-

"But the system would log you as a disobediant individual, and you would be put on the wanted list of the Enforcers' official channel. Every active Enforcer would chase you down to the pit if necessary, according to protocol, isn't so?"

"Briliant! If we can somehow lure the system into operating the exact way it should, then we could turn the entire Enforcers' army against themselves!" Ratchet connected the dots and finally reached his breakthrough.

"Not only so, but consequentially, said Enforcer wouldn't be able to re-enter that vicinity due to the lockdown status of said city state's perimeter."

"Which means we can lock them outside with their own toys, at their own game, while we rule the entire city unhindered!" Megatron pierced the pieces together and beamed back at Ratchet, who was deliberately grinning like a crazed maniac.

"The only problem remained is how we would execute that plan, seeing as we need a particular Enforcer to express his support for our organization for the chain reaction to actually take place." Ratchet who quickly regained his composure spoke out loud.

"And I have just the thing to do that." Megatron unsubspaced an Enforcer badge and held it up, much to everyone's dismay.

"How did you get that?" Orion questioned skeptically, eventhough he himself wasn't certain whether hearing the answer would satisfy his curiosity or unsettle his gestation tank even worse.

"Nothing much. Pried it off a graying-out Enforcer from our last unsuccessful raid, is all." He replied nonchalently, unaffected by direct molestation of a deactivated mech. His behaviour sent a shiver down Orion's backstrut, though he dismissed it as being unimportant and logged it for another time.

"Excellent forethought, Megatron. This should prove vital to our plan. Now, if I may excuse myself from this meeting, seeing as I have quite a servoful of coding to integrate and resemble before our plan can be put in motion." He started walking back to his quarters, not even bothering to receive an affirmative.

"Alright then. We shall wait for his progress. In the meantime, we should discuss about our planned route of action to take whence the first part is accomplished." Megatron took them back to the conversation at hand.

"Yes, certainly. I would propose a planetary-scale strike against the Council, under the form of a fierce strike against the active imperial government's reign of unjust we have been enduring. We will boycott every one of their bidding, starting with the most basic product of rust stick, until the very last of their unfair legistration is canceled." Orion took on a solemn voice as he addressed their problem at hand.

"I concur. We and what army?" Megatron was too encompassed in Orion's speech that he wasn't paying attention to his comm system being onlined accidentally with a fickle of a button, broadcasting their private conversation throughout the entire underground base.

"The army of the poor. The helpless. The laborers. Of everymech who has ever been violated by the unreasonable manipulation of the Council. We shall make our call across the planet, and any who wish to join us or aid in our cause shall rise to follow. It is now the time for us to regain what was rightfully ours. No more hiding in the shadows, no more crawling down the sewers, but tall we shall make our stand! It is the dawn of a new age, an era of equality! It is now the age of the Autobots!"

The instance he finished, the entire base exploded in cheers, everymech filled to the brim with a new light of determination, hope and trust. They would unite and rise up together, and would triumph in the battle against nefarious Councilmecha.

Or at least, that was what they were _made_ to think. And deep within Megatron's edge of consciousness, the Thirteenth First Prime laughed silently, satisfied with his not-so-accidentally brush of a button, and of the half-accomplished task.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this story will probably not be updated again any sooner than January 2019. Apology in advance for any inconvenience this may cause.


	23. Chapter 4 - Part 11

Author's note: Apology for all the inconvenience caused by not updating this story for a while. Worry not, the story shall be back on its rightful track, and updates will be posted more frequently from now on.

* * *

PART 11  
#Progress

Nestled within the city state of Iacon laid what was known as a fortress, an entire sovereign of invincibility that grew in power as days past. With its active recruitment, almost three-fourth of the city's mecha now bore the proud Autobot sigil as their one and only lead to follow. What was even more impeccable about this accomplishment was that it was carried out with no casualties, and the only damage sustained was a superficial dent, which that Enforcer wasn't even conscious long enough to notice the pain. Equipped with a modified Enforcer badge, all it took was Megatron to wear their patriotic paint scheme and walk across the border while picturing unpleasant scenario, and the chain reaction they received had been nothing short of their expectation. Enforcers, like the pre-programmed drones that they were, got sent on a wild goose chase for an unknown Enforcer – who, if he even existed, had already been safely hiding underground – and got lured by their badge-beacon straight to the outskirt of the city.

With the barrier serving as an active tool of barring the Enforcers from re-entering their state, Iacon had been theirs, and theirs alone ever since. For the first time in the few stellarcycles that surmised their lives as of late, mecha dared to travel to the surface to regain a sense of fresh air, and needless to say the miners were delightful. Mecha of Autobot began spreading around, infusing mecha with the idea of rebelism and revolution, which was rather widely accepted, taken into consideration the fact that no mech actually tollerated the Council's reign at all. More and more mecha began to believe in the prospect of a future where freedom to all sentient being is not an unrealistic fantasy, but rather a possibility with increasing odds. Suffice to say, justice was being served – or at least thought to be - and the Autobots became its political incarnation.

Ever since then, the complete overhaul of Cybertronian's government system no longer remained a longed-to-be-myth as much as it was an inevitable outcome. With the general aim of the Autobots focused mainly at causing public diversity, many riots, strikes, boyscotts and other rebelious campaigns had been held by corresponding Autobot members, each gathering a growing number of followers in their predecessors' wake. Eventually, the time had come for an official confrontation between the leaders of both factions to collide and attempt at drafting a treaty.

Upon this major event, Megatron had taken it upon himself to come up with an inspiring motivation to remind themselves of what they were fighting for, of their purposes. Hence the explanation why he was seated inside the comfort of his spacious quarter underground, fiddling on an old, rusty datapad that he, long ago, had used to be acquainted with. With each movement of his rusty, calloused digits, a new line of glyphs appeared on the screen, and the fluent flow of data was matched with the mech's own flow of imagination and creativity, as he was performing what he did best, back in the old cycles under the mines. An activity that no other mecha with a sane processor would even consider, let alone associate, with his bulky strong built. A secret that was kept well-hidden, even to the closest of his relationships. Not even his life-long companion, bondmate and lover could even find out, before, during or after the bond they shared.

Megatron was _writing._ Composing a work of art, if he did say so himself. Although it was but a pure, sketchy draft of the outline; he _knew_ from the moment the inspiration hit him that it would be a masterpiece. Each fuel line racing within his plating was tinging with pent-up energon, partly from the recent success that the Autobots achieved, but mostly from reveling in his own sanctuary, basking in his forte, the one sacred ground where no Enforcer, no ordinary miner, not even a trusted beloved, would ever invade: the world of literacy and art, of fewer harsh, unconclusive actions and more words of the wiser. His processor was drifting, distant in space, awe-struck at all the limitless possiblities that one's creativity has to offer, but all the while more concentrated than ever on doing justice for his little creation, as was the unfathomable fact that occurred everytime he put effort in his literature. His optics, flashing intensely with a bright red hue that usually marked his anger and frustration, now bristled with intense, unadulterated passion, for his one true and only pastime, a passion that rarely made its presence through his entire life, one that he wasn't even certain of possessing anymore, suspected lost within hard labourship of exhausting mining hours, but more tangible and surreal than ever within the exact moment. His faceplate bore an expression of a dazed, yet attentive gaze, as he channeled every single thread of emotion within his swirling spark tendrils, clamping tightly shut from the other side of their mutual sparklink so as not to arrouse his partner from deep slumber.

He thought back to the first cycles of his activation, the look on his carrier's faceplate as she took the first, and as-of-yet unknown, last, peak at her creation, before they were seperated forever. Then he concentrated on orbital cycles of working in the dark, damp cavern where mist, humidity and poor living conditions grazed on his circuits, tethering the mech's consciousness on the verge between sanity and the opposite. Then came the exhilarating cycles of a first-ever freedom, yet fugitive way of life, running away from the active pursuit of the Enforcers, then the Council. His spark flashed with a warm sensation as his trip down the memory logs took him over the founding cycles of a certain rebel force which he had come to know and adore so much. He welcomed the feeling, as his cache walked him through their entire story again, watching it blossom into a beautiful, lasting relationship as two young sparks decided to intertwine their fates together. He observed with a soft smile on his liplates, and for once displaying an honesty that was always masked under layers of gruff and sarcasm.

As the mech backtrailed everything he had experienced, all boiling down to that exact moment, he felt a strange feeling of consent. Knowing that his life hadn't been on the best of circumstances, he had many times wished to turn back the clock and change it for the better, starting from the moment of his activation and securing a better fate for himself than becoming an individual that was, has been, is, and always will be at the bottom of the hierarchy. Yet, reflecting on everything that happened to him until then, he realized with a sudden startle that, surprisingly, the mech found himself strangely satisfied with how his fate turned out, and wouldn't change anything, for better or for worse. He wished for his life to stick with what it always had been, accepted all the torment and pain he had been forced to endure, even if just to allow him a chance with Orion, a chance at building a true, happy family, a sincere home where he could return to. As unbelievable as it might sound, he found himself yearning for that life.

So the mech began _writing_. And he kept on writing, until he exhausted every single one of his digits, until he strained his own imagination to the breaking point, until his spark _ached_ with exertion. And even so, he continued writing, until his energy level, or the lack thereof, forced the mech into a stamina-induced recharge, right in his sitting upright posture, every single hydraulic pump of his frame rigid and frozen with inactivity. As was programmed before, the datapad he was working on self-deactivated, saving the huge of his entire work into its tiny circuits and delicate wirings, including the epilogue that followed his original masterpiece.

On the back of the datapad, was scribbled with a frantic note. A designation, to be exact. It wasn't pretty, but it was carved deeply into the metal surface, as if emotionally done in a hurry. Yet, for the glory of all its outside appearance, it bore a much deeper meaning to its owner - one that no other, not even the all powerful Primus himself, could truly fathom.

It spelled, _"Towards Peace, from Megatron of Tarn"_.

* * *

His work was released a joor prior to their meeting, through an anonymous IP address and puplished directly on the open database of Iacon's lengthy archive. Mecha were suaved, and it attracted as many followers to the cause as if they had just taken down the Council themselves. The rumours began to go around, with people now seeking this "Megatron" mech as if he was Primus himself. Eventhough they never could, considering he was just some nameless miner without even a slightest record in the world of literacy. Of course, that didn't stop the feeling of consent and pride blossoming in his spark whenever he walked pass a couple of mecha speaking about how influential and motivating his writing was, oblivious to the fact that its author was very much the subject of whom they were gossiping about.

In fact, just the simple responses online was fiery and explosive enough to give them an actual impression that the entire _planet_ of Cybertron was on their side for once. From all across the planet, messages, letters, comments and texts whatsoever, mecha were sending their support and aid, a certain illegal aspect of the matter notwithstanding, creating a full-out wave of rebellion that threatened the Council into giving in to whatever offers and demands they made, in spite of how drastic and unreasonable some might have been. The entire conference ended with colourful victory for the Autobots, sufficiently terminating the terrorizing reigns of the Councilmecha.

Or at least, that was what they were led to believe.

* * *

"Senator Shockwave! Whatever plots, plans, or failsafes you haven't exhausted, I would suggest now to be the perfect time to, if there really was any left. I certainly _didn't_ expect your brilliant processor to fail you within this crucial moment, but hardly surprising I was right about your incompetence, it would have appeared." The mech was _bristling_ with boiling hot fury, his vocalizer a distinct indicator of how aggravated he was.

"In contrary to popular belief, I, for one, have a plan." Without even meeting his optics, Shockwave replied with a cool mechanical intonation.

"Well then, execute them! Because I would certainly _not_ give in to these… menace… obnoxious and preposterous accusations!" Tried as he might, the mech couldn't hide his fear of the unfamiliar surroundings, and both of them knew that.

"For the record, it is _not_ , in any forseeable outcome, in my best interest to surrender control of the planet over to the terrorism. And off the record, I might just as well spare you the fruitless effort of even attempting to catch up with my point of view." Once again, Shockwave brushed it off like an unimportant comment and kept on with his quick pacing.

" _Excuse me?_ What nonsense are you spewing this time?" A tingle of skepticism bleached its way into the mech's vocalizer, an accompanying insecurity crepting over his processor at the same time.

"I may not be in the right position to enclose any furthur details of my plan. Rest assured that it would work, otherwise we wouldn't be here." Shockwave finally came to a stop in front of a large control panel.

"Now that the matter is at forefront, please do not refrain yourself from explaining this… abomination, and the much-desired reasoning behind why we are here, rather than actively participating in a historical moment in the conference hall?" The other Councilmech was trying to put on an annoyed bravado, but he wasn't even convincing himself.

"My my my… Your incompatible intellect really doesn't cease to humour me everytime, does it? Is it truly possible for a mech to be so clueless in the face of utter revelation right now?" With a flip of a switch, the entire laboratory lighted up, revealing various machinary crawling up all the four walls. The room bore an eery semblance to a scene taken from a sci-fi animation, even more so with four large tubes in the central terminal containing a glowing purple liquid inside.

"Stop speaking in riddles and _do_ start excusing yourself this instance!" The mech was even more skiddled than he was, especially with how calm Shockwave was pressing buttons on a datapad as if he was just performing scheduled maintenance tasks.

"Very well then, I shall fullfil your final request." He set the datapad down and pulled a large lever, while fixing his cool, calculative gaze on the mech for the first time since they entered the abandoned warehouse.

"My wha-

"This, in front of you, is the brilliant invention of a Dark Energon infuser, which, as its designation clearly suggests, infuses individuals' vital with the legendary substance of Dark Energon. And all I need right now is a test subject, which I believe even your incompetent processor could comprehend your simple role in this highly-complicated process." And that was the last thing he ever felt, for what came next was the tingling sensation of a cord being connected to his medical ports, and then numb blackness washed over his consciousness forever.


	24. Chapter 4 - Part 12

PART 12  
#Diversion

"Great job back there, fella! Thanks to your incredible leadership, now we're closer than ever to realizing our goal!" Ratchet initiated a toast, "I'll drink to that."

"To Autobots!"

"To Orion!"

"To high-grade!"

Mecha were shouting their cheer. The entire Autobots' headquarter was filled to the brim with celebratory ornaments, stacks of high-grade, piles of rust sticks and various other Engex-based additives. The entire base was never more lively than that exact moment.

It would make perfect sense though. Since Autobot was just a sparkle of idea, this goal had always been what they were thriving towards, what they would eagerly exchange everything to get. Even until now, Orion couldn't believe it was over already, just so quickly and swiftly. In all honesty, part of him had always been prepared for an eventual outcome where they are caught and convicted with third-degree treason, serving either life sentences or immediate execution and never get to see the sunlight again. Even that eventuality was more plausible than this fantastic Utopia that he just couldn't wrap his processor around.

Though now that they were all gathered around, chanting his name like a god and praising him for his excellent performance back in the meeting, congratulating each other on achieving their utmost goal, he just _couldn't_ shake off a feeling that something had just gone horribly, utterly wrong. Every other mecha had already come to terms with their triumphant and began moving on with their future lives. Ratchet was planning on reopening his clinic as a public hospital for poor mecha, a few of the Autobots were getting ready to come back to school and finish their education, a few decided going back to the mines were most suitable for them now that the place was Enforcer-free, and a lot tagged along with Ratchet to help him refurbish the underground system into an operating facility. In short, everyone seemed settled within what their future expectations would be, and no one bothered sparing second thoughts for their accomplished task.

The party was wild and exuberant, and by the end of it, no mech wasn't drunk or clinging to their sanity, let alone owning any ounce of self-preservance. Ratchet offered to clean the place up, and no mecha wanted to work with a drunk, anger-management-issue harbouring medic, especially with his infamous wrench-throwing ability, so they swarmed the exits and made their way to their private quarters in record timing. Upon leaving, they promised to always heed Orion's call should the need for the Autobots rise once again, and Orion would be lying if he said he wasn't proud of being the subject of such unconditional trust.

At the moment, however, he wished that trust had been more physically displayed, seeing that he himself, Megatron and Ratchet were the three only mecha performing sanitary duties. And considering how drunk his sparkmate was, he just wished the mech wouldn't release his waste tank right on the spot for him to clean up.

"Now now there, don't get all mushy on me, old-timer!" Slurped Ratchet, his vocalizer muffled by a hazy Megatron snuzzling at his faceplate. If Orion didn't have the entire mountain of high-grade cubes to dissolve, he would have found the mental image of a cybercat snuggling a turbofox more humourous.

"Awww, Ratchy, but I luvvv you!" Orion had to stop scrubbling a particularly sticky Engex residue blotch to do a double-take at the scene, just to be certain that his optics weren't playing tricks on him and that Megatron _was_ confessing heartfelt compliments to their grumpy Chief Medical Officer.

"C'mon, mecha, focus! We need to finish this entire pile of abomination before we could hit the hay, so get your afts up and movin'!" His valiant effort at improving their alarming work performance, as expected, didn't yield any desirable effect at speeding things up, but rather did a fine job at deccelerating Megatron even more, if that was possible.

"Hey luvvv, wha's the russs? We g' all the time in the world!" He growled out, not releasing Ratchet in the process. He _did_ manage to slip on his unsteady peds and hit the ground with a flop, his faceplate being knocked aside to face Orion, who just shrugged and turned back to his own personal pit-spawn.

"Wow, shiny thang! What _is_ that flashy thang on yur' back? It's sooo pretty! Can I havvv it?" Megatron extended a servo to grasp at Orion's back, and to both of their dismay his digits made physical contact with what was supposed to be a fragment of his imagination. Plucking it out of his transformation seam, Megatron held it closer for further inspection, but fortunately just as he was about to devour the thing Ratchet snatched it away.

"Wait a second… this is a tracker! Orion, when have this thing been attached to your frame?"

"Wait, what? What are you talking abou-

"When?!"

"Erm… I'm not sure… A few nanoklicks ago, I wasn't even notified of its existence!"

"Frag it!" Ratchet crushed the tiny mechanic between his digits and kicked Megatron in the pelvis area, which turned the mech into a curling intangible ball of silver metal on the ground. "It must have been planted on you since you were at that conference!"

"Which means-

As if in response, a thunderous explosion rocked the entire underground base, resulting in crumbles of loose rocks raining down on their frames. A specifically nasty shagged edge fell atop of Megatron, effectively knocking him out of his trance for him to catch up.

"Get out of the tunnels! Every Autobots, be aware! We are under attack! I repeat, this is not a drill, we are under attack!" Orion snapped his battle mask shut and activated his Energon axe, leading the panic medic and a shaky miner out of the room.

* * *

Ratchet's medbay, the one sacred ground where any unsanitary intrusion from any mecha, regardless of status, role or importance would be met with Ratchet's fury flame of pit, the one and only place retaining any hygiene and cleanliness inside the midst of Autobot's underground headquarter, the only semi sub-ground contact with the outside world and also their active outpost-medical facility-official legitimate disguise, was all and thoroughly trashed. From top to bottom, the place was swarmed with Enforcers and military frametypes, their bulky less-than-subtle approach at conducting a whole-out search party-pursuit and elimination of the terrorism forces left the place nothing, not even a faint remnant of its former glory self. What laid in the place of supposedly order and organization, was now ruins and wanton destruction. Littering the surface of the ground down to the very last mechano inches were fragments, pieces of broken flask and test tubes, syringes along with various other fragile equipment. Metal tools such as operating laser scalpels, medical-grade Energon cubes, nuts and bolts comprising of indistinguishable infrastructure, and broken IV drip stands gleamed as they reflected the solar light, provided through a generous-sized hole punctuating the once-whole rooftop, created as an after-effect of the military's dramatic entrance. The few objects and items either large or heavy enough to withstand the rippling resonance were toppled over, dents and scratches texturing their cover leaving none intact, as is evident with Ratchet's humble number of medberths and cyro-preservance cabinet units. Fluorescent lighting fixtures were all shattered with the initial explosion, recreating a surreal shadowed ambience that mimicked perfectly those of horror movies with a post-apocalypse theme. Most overwhelming of all was the unpleasant stench of deteriorating vital organs and spilt chemicals, a concoction highly volatile and unstable. Cracks ran across any available surface of the cement walls, and crumbles had become of those which suffered too much. It was a miracle that their meticulously hidden entrance to the vaults remained undiscovered until then.

Inevitably, as much as the scenery had looked like it had stepped out from Ratchet's horrendous nightmare, so did the following unavoidable. A pair of peds stopped in front of a particularly intact section of the wall, a slight tilt of the helm, as if the individual's consciousness was pondering over an obvious equation. Its optics flashed a vibrant magenta hue, cold and calculating enough to rival Senator Shockwave's infamous gaze.

All of a sudden, it made movement. A servo swung backwards, with increasing momentum dashed forward and slammed into the wall's crevice. The impact revealed a reinforced opening, laden with polished metal that leads deep underground. Smirking, the mech gathered his troops and motioned them to advance forwards.

The impenetrable Autobot fortress shall fall that cycle.

* * *

Upon entering the Armory, Orion spotted his own troop gearing up for war. Ratchet, who was flailing behind with an out-of-commission Megatron dead weight, vented a huff of relief as he rushed to the nearest boulder. Orion hurried to meet up with his comrades and began arming himself as well.

"Commander! What is the hostile?" A friend Tankformer greeted him, Orion's helpful processor informed him that the mech's designation was Straxus.

"Yes, Straxus. A beacon transmitting our coordinates have been recently planted onto one of our comrades. In hindsight, we were so preoccupied with celebrating our assumed victory that exercising cautions were neglected. We shall not make that mistake twice. Autobots, choose your weapon of choice, then roll out! We shall not take any chances with our enemy, and any necessary action will be taken to protect out base. This is our home, and we will stand our grounds!" He decisively left out said comrade's identity in his rally. Fortunately, not much attention was given to that particular information.

"Hail Orion!"

"Hail Autobots!"

The accompanying cheer drowned out whatever Ratchet was screaming at the moment that he had to use their private comm channel. ::Ratchet? Is something wrong with Megatron?::

::This is wrong, Orion! We can't fight them!:: Even through his comm channel, Ratchet could still achieve a volume that is capable of damaging his audio receptors' integrity.

::I know there are too many of them, but if we stand united-

"That's not what I'm talking about! We _can't_ fight them! Not with military forces! Not like this!" His modulated vocalizer expressed outrage and exasperation.

"I'm sorry?"

"When I signed up for this, when _you_ forced me into this, we agreed on peaceful negotiations! Not this… violent outburst!"

"Chief Officer, they are here. Right on our home turf. Targeting our own brethen. We cannot let them roam over and enslave us all again, after all that we've accomplished!" Straxus voiced his own opinion, reminding Orion that their conversation had since long outgrown their private frequency.

"Don't you even bother _thinking_ for one second that I believe in all your lies and deceptions! You think a fully-trained-medic like myself has never seen a gunshot wound before or know how it looks like? You think _that_ much mecha is injured just by encountering hateful civilians on the street? I _know_ that you fought to get Energon supplies, that you _raid_ and _stole_ all those reserves we had. I even tolerated you _killing_ these Enforcers upon resistance! I put up with that behaviour out of a will to _survive_ , but now this is just pure massacre!" Ratchet exploded in a fiery fit of anger and pent-up frustration, accumulating through every hard joor of saving critically-injured lives.

"What are you talking about? Are you out of your processor? Are you even hearing yourself? They are out there, in the entrance! With guns, grenades, bombs, missiles! And you think _they_ leave the safety on?" Straxus retorted, tank armor plating tightened around protoform as an indication of aggression and agitation. Fortunately Ratchet was well-versed in the art of reading frame-language.

"I'm not saying we can't kill them because they haven't killed us yet, because they definitely will, taken into consideration the fact that we just locked them out of their own city state for 3 slagging megacycles and gained total domination reign over Iacon! Especially now that we just succeed in pressuring the Council to follow our negotiation terms, something threatening to both their power and position! All I'm suggesting that we have to be smart here, and a full-blown volatile conflict wouldn't serve any purpose other than further patronizing them and worsen the situation."

"You know nothing! All you do is coward, hiding behind that med bay of yours and let _us_ take the shots to feed your medbay! I shall not let your wimpy idealism destroy us all!" The repulsive mech pulled out a rifle and leveled it at the medic's helm, who fearlessly returned his stare with one of his own.

Orion was nimble to interfere before anymech was hurt. "Stand down, Straxus! Let us hear him out. Ratchet, do you have a proposal?"

"I suggest we apprehend their leader and exploit his knowledge of the opposition we are facing, then using him as a bargaining chip for our next operation." In response, the entire Armory silent out, everymech awaiting the final decision for Orion to make.

"So… what you're saying is we can't kill the leader?" Orion's vocalizer was slurring and hesitant, a telltale sign of him evaluating the matter at hand.

"And how, pray tell, would we even dream of approaching at close contact with, let alone apprehend, their precious leader?" Straxus chimed in with dripping sarcasm.

"We won't–we can't kill him, or anymech else either. I may have formed a plan, if you all would allow me to demonstrate…

* * *

The large Autobot army marched into the largest tunnel conjunction point underground, their thunderous peds echoing across vacant hallway and revolving around, an endless staccato of perfect sync. Each and every one of the Autobots were well-equipped from helm to ped with various armory, their servos tightened on a chosen weapon of choice. The heavy-armored frontliners marched on front, carrying thermal blades, Energon swords and plasma knuckles along with a diversity of melee knives. The epicenter of the moving army stood Orion, with his infamous rifle on one hand and the battle axe on another, next to Ratchet who was having difficulty trailing behind a hung-over Megatron. Surrounding them was mecha with firearms of all size and shape, flanked by the few Seekers and flight-capable sharpshooters that they had. Despite the variant frametypes and optic colors, in that exact same moment, they all proudly wore the Autobots sigil. They were determined to stand their grounds and protect their only home, and Orion would see to it with his own optics.

From the far end of the main branch, a mech made his entrance, his purple optics gleaming through the darkness. His right servo was cracked, a stream of dark liquid was seaping out slowly from the open wound. Despite that, the mech barely seemed to register a pain signal on his grid. He kept on pacing towards the incoming army casually, both servos unarmed and comfortably resting by his sides. The mech's faceplate bore an expression of malice contentment, a mysterious grin hidden behind transparent battle mask. Every movement was swift and precise, even his relaxed stroll radiated with authority that outmatched Orion's own effort. His chestplate was proudly exhibited, revealing a yellow symbol of a High Councilmech.

Both sides continued advancing towards the center of the large chamber without hesitation. Some of the Autobots began aiming their personal ammunition at the enclosing target, but no mecha were authorized to give fire by Orion himself. Some of the frontliners growled in an endeavor at intimidation, while the flyers' engine turbines were whirring to life even louder than before, but none could discourage the Councilmech from closing in on them. Finally, when both parties were only a servo's reach within each other, the mech stopped. Orion stepped out from his ranks to approach the mech himself.

"I hope the welcome wagon wasn't too hostile for an intruder."

"Oh, no. Even _I_ deserve a welcoming wagon? Oh, I'm flattered."

"State your business, or we will shoot to deactivate on spot."

"Well well, aren't we all a little jumpy here?"

"This is not a precaution. It is your final warning. Comply, or else."

"Or else? Or else what?"

"This." Orion unsubspaced a hand-held device and latched it onto the mech's chestplate, but to his dismay his own servo found only thin air where physical contact was supposed to meet. The image fickled into blue holographic matter before dissipating fully before his optics. From the far side of the room, a voice was amplified through the entire chamber.

"Hah, did you seriously not doubt for one nanoklick that I would come to you unarmed and vulnerable? Resistence my aft, you are even more pathetic than I have thought. Whatever plans you had, it wouldn't work on me."

"Come out of hiding and step into the light! Don't be a coward!"

"Gladly. But first," A well-aimed sniper shot from the ceiling knocked his delicate EMP right off his servo. The thing dropped to the ground with a "clank", sizzling with excessive energy and emitting a blinding flash of white light. "you have to drop that thing."

* * *

Author's note: _warning: major character death in next chapter._


	25. Chapter 4 - Part 13

PART 13  
#Chaos

From all around them, surrounding troops began firing rounds of ammunition at them. With the entire army decapacitated and immobilized, they were taken down layers by layers without even given the chance to fight back. Heavy frontliners rushed forwards to engage the enemy in close-quarter, while disorientated and dizzy, became easy target for snipers instead. Most of the flyers were brought down instantly by their unstable equilibrium, those few who remained airborne were made quick work by heat-seeking missiles. Whatever military formation they used to have, was now reduced to nothing but a bunch of gathered target for shooting practice, trampling in each other's pedstep to get away, pushing one another in harm's way to protect their own plating.

Within the midst of raging battle, a badly-injured Ratchet was trying to drag Megatron's still frame to a nearby cover boulder. A missile detonated right above their helm, jolting the entire vicinity and scattered crumbles of rocks upon them. A loose end began shaking, cracks at its seams spreading across the surface of the ceiling like a squiggling motorsnake. In a mere nanoklick, Ratchet saw the stone fell apart from the ceiling and was contemplating transforming into alt-mode to speed away when Megatron's dead weight tugged at his servo. Time seemed to deccelerate as he slamed his own momentum into Megatron and tumbled both of them aside in the nick of time for the rock to scratch at his shoulder plating. It made contact with the ground in a loud "thud", the after resonance of the impact only was forceful enough to catapult them spiralling through the air at a sharp rock formation, impaling Ratchet's deteriorating wound. As blue, warm Energon burst out and flooded Megatron's entangled limbs with the medic's own, the mech finally sobered up as if coming to terms with the gravity of the situation. His first impression upon awakening was the gory sight of a deactivating mech, soaked from ped to helm with his own vitals and respiring with difficulty, the sound of air traveling through his constricted vents filled with Energon audible to even the deaf. Though he much doesn't like the bickering medic usually, seeing the one who sacrificed to save his aft in that condition would have brought up sympathy from anymech.

"Orion! Help! It's Ratchet!" He bellowed out frantically, desperate growing and turning in his fuel tank with each laboured vent the medic released. His optics were wild and unfocused, symptoms of going into shock from Energon lost. The mech wasn't even aware of the rock protruding from his abdominal plating, panting hard and heaving Energon pre-occupied him already.

As Orion responded to his sparkmate's panic and fear through their shared bond, the nefarious Councilmech took advantage of his distraction to make his move. He rushed at him, unsheathed sword shining gleamish purple, infused with Dark Energon. Caught off-guard, Orion took a deep slash that sliced open half his right shoulder plating. The mech instantly retaliated with his own signature battle axe, though his left servo barely managed to match his right's strength, and the swing bounced off harmlessly on the Councilmech's reinforced chestplate. The two exchanged blow for blow, Orion relied mainly on his swiftness and agility while the other poured tremendous force into each of his attack. Eventually, with the throb from his shoulder plating, his stamina was strained to an end, and while dodging an inbound projectile, he revealed an opportunity for his opponent. Whom hesitated none to make good use of.

 _Crank._

To Orion, the world just stopped moving, and everything happened before his optics in stop-frame animation. The sword ran fluidly through solid Cybermatter like a knife cutting open a rust stick, and Orion would have been amused at the mental image had he not realized the victim of the sword wasn't him. He reassessed his pain grid, then examined his neural cortex, though no malfunction was diagnosed by his troubleshooting program. Baffled and confused, Orion tried rebooting his system, which assured him that his internal mechanism was functioning at full capacity, except for a few torn wires and dented protoform at the injured shoulder. So he did it the old-fashioned way, with operative optics he trailed back the mech's servo, from his shoulder to the digits grabbing hold of the sword, to the mass of body encompassing the instrument of war. The mech's plating was silver, and he was unfortunate to be stabbed right into one of the major hydraulic pumps that allow motor function of a mech - he would surely be crippled for life even if he survived the mortal injury, despite how unlikely that would be. Inspecting around the area revealed the frame of a large mech with sturdy built and clawed limbs, befitting for a manual labourer, especially a miner as was the main composition of the Autobot's numbers. His frame was lit with dents and fractures, the Autobot sigil scratched beyond recognition. Minor details by one another, every signs and evidences all pointed towards a specific mech whom he really didn't want to believe in. So Orion disassociated himself from any conclusion or deduction his processor produced and kept on inspecting the frame without looking at the faceplate, so as not to confirm the one ultimate fact he had already known was bound to be true.

With shivering optics, he looked at his lover's faceplate, one that bore a heavy grimace when enduring great pain, and yet when optical contact was made, Megatron could still find it in himself to love Orion with all his being – their mutual sparklink had all but confirmed it for both. In spite of Megatron's rigorous effort to keep the sparkbond clamped shut, faint phantom of the pain still seeped through, and from what little Orion could share with his mate it was unbearable. The ex-miner put on his best smirk - which radiated with smugness that once evoked such fiery hatred from Orion, the one he had come to know and love so much, the one thing that had always swept Orion off his peds and made him surrender helplessly to his charm, was transfigured and morphed into one of torturous tolerance. Red optics still flashed with passionate affection despite its diminishing attribute, and Orion was defenseless to grab his sparkmate's servo and watch as warm, blue Energon flowed unconstrictedly from the punctual wound. He could feel it in his spark how utterly devoted, determined and resolved Megatron was to cling on to life, to Orion's anchor of love and happiness, to his soft, considerate servo, to their sacred sparkbond. But above all the will to live, to survive, to protect and preserve, they couldn't deny the fact that Megatron's spark was dimming, his life force itself oozing away in a constant dribble. The worse part was to _feel_ it through their bond, growing and accumulating more and more with every passing nanoklicks that Megatron remained in critical condition.

"No! Love, stay with me! I'll find you help. I'll get someone to assist. Someone! Help! Ratchet!" Orion furiously yelled out behind unrestrainable streams of coolant pouring from his optical contacts, servo gripping on Megatron's even tighter if he could. His battle mask, fractured during the fight with the Councilmech, was completely ripped off, electricity crackling audio receptors' antennas broken in halves. None of those seemed to register on his pain grid or central system, however, as Orion's one and only all-consuming concern was his partner's well-being.

No matter how much he willed it to happen, he couldn't change the fact that the battle was still raging around them, that death and destruction stop and allow grievance to no one, and within the midst of heated battle they were all but forgotten and ignored. Orion kept on screaming for whatever assistance, but to no avail. There was no way Megatron could have escaped that chamber alive or intact, and although Orion refused to believe in it, it was the inevitable truth that both of them knew very well.

::Orion…

::No! Stop! Save your strength, the reinforcements will arrive!:: "Ratchet!" He resumed his ferocious roaring, but soon were discouraged by the cold, uncaring and irresponsive apathy of the ongoing war.

::Orion! Listen to me! Hey, look at me. Look at me in the optics, please.:: Megatron vented out breathily, his comm system undamaged, but rather suffocated in his own flowing Energon.

::Megatron…

::Orion. The battle… it is no use. Do the right… thing. Take Ratchet… get out of here. Bring as much brothers with you as you can. Keep them… alive for me, will you? The Autobots too… keep it up and running. Never give up. For me. For… us.:: Megatron struggled to message the few incoherent words that Orion had to strain his own radio receptors' configuration to make out of.

::No! I'm not leaving you behind! Never!:: Orion tightened his fists, enclosing Megatron's in his. ::We're bondmates! We have each other's back! There's no pit on Unicron that would make me leave you. Not now. Not ever.:: He said it with enough steel conviction that in a split nanoklick, he almost fooled himself. Almost.

::You've said it… We're bondmates… There will no seperating us… never. You are mine, as I am yours… always. We shall remain with each other… in our very sparks.:: Megatron smiled again, this one more sincere than any other façade he had ever thrown his whole life.

::Yes, love, yes. We're bondmates. We won't be seperated. I will always love you, that will never change, and nothing can make it change either.:: Orion fiercely agreed, throroughly convinced in their jubilant ending.

::Good… I love you, Orion… Promise me… that you will take care of yourself… that whatever happens… you will remember me by… as a trusty companion.:: Megatron's vents became even worse than before, his entire frame started to grey out as was the clearest indication of a deactivating mech.

::No, stay with me, love. I trust you. I believe in you. Stay with me!:: Orion desperately called out when his bondlink weakened from the other side, signifying a distinguished spark.

::Good… Forgive me, love…:: Megatron then used the last of his residue strength to deliver a blow straight to Orion's injured shoulder, forcing him to release his hold on Megatron's servo and stumble backwards a few steps. While the mech was still recoiling from the sudden movement, Megatron had already activated a detonator attached on his own chestplate and grabbed hold of the Councilmech's servo with all his might.

"Y'know… the best thing… about being stabbed? That it is… in itself a confirmation… that you are not a freaking hologram!" Megatron smirked maliciously, his optics offlined to preserve whatever energy was left.

"What are you attempting to do? Stop! You're gonna kill us both, moron!" The mech began squirting frantically to get away from the suicidal mech, but Megatron's grip was as tight as a deadlock. From afar, Orion was still baffled on the ground, observing the scenario played out without being able to do anything about it.

"What we had… originally planned to do… in the first place… only this time with an even more satisfying blast!" Megatron cackled maniacally, his logic circuits already deactivated along with the rest of his processor from Energon lost. Regaining his pedstand, Orion raced towards his sparkmate, every pedsteps more rushed and hurried than the previous, all traces of exhaustion and injury dissipated in the face of imminent deactivation of his partner.

"No! Megatron, don't!"

"Sorry, Orion… I have to do this… Get back!"

"No! Deactivate the bomb! We can still do it! We can find another way!"

"I love you, Orion… Always remember that…"

"Megatron!"

As he began closing in on the mech, their distance brought down to mere mechano inches, a white servo caught his ped-joint and pulled the mech off-balance. Hitting the ground hard, the pain from his open shoulder swarmed his HUD with various warnings, cautions and errors, which he all dismissed without even a second thought. The mech instantly propelled himself back on his limbs and began crawling with every ounce of his strength to Megatron. Their distance were shortened even more with each nanoklick passing, and he was so close already. Orion reached out – with just a press of a button on that detonator he would save his sparkmate. Just a few more crawls, just a few more…

Above his helm, laser rounds were exchanged from both sides, some flew too close for comfort, some even scorched his exposed protoform. A stray bolt hit him in the rib, causing unbearable pain to swarm his pain grid.

 _Keep crawling._

Another explosion rocked the wrecked chamber, sending loose crumbles from the ceiling to rain over his abused frame. Small dust got caught up inside his joints, causing immobility and intolerable agony with each movement.

 _Keep crawling._

The previous servo grabbed his ped again, holding on for dear life this time. He didn't even bother stopping to cut it loose.

 _Keep crawling._

A laser scapel was ejected from a white digit, digging into the crook of his ped painfully.

 _Keep crawling._

The owner of the laser scapel made a swift, medic-grade movement to cut off the neural cord controling motor function of his ped, rendering it a dead weight to the three functional limbs left.

 _Keep crawling._

Megatron's peds were within range now, only a crawl left and he could reach upwards to press that button, to deactivate the bomb, to save his friend. _Only one crawl left._

Rerouting energy to his ruby-red optics, Megatron looked down and smiled at him. "Goodbye, Orion."

"No!"

He reached out.

He touched the button.

An explosion threw him across the room, into the servos of a kneeling Ratchet. It might have caused him pain, deactivation even, but he couldn't feel anything. Not even the deafening ringing inside his audio receptors' fried circuits, or the complete system reboot, or the shrapnels produced by the detonation could manage to make him feel anything.

All he could feel at the moment was the empty, vacuum nothingness where the sparklink used to lay.

* * *

::Senator Shockwave!::

::I trust that the target had been acquired?::

::Yes, but there was a… tiny problem with it…

::What?::

::During the process of capturing of the target, we encounter heavy resistance and-

::Spare me the details. What is the result?::

::The target! He's dead! In pieces!::

Shockwave had always prided himself on his unique ability to predict and prepare for all possibility. This, too, wasn't beyond his calculation.

::All the better, Councilmech Rustbolt. All the better.::

::You sure, Senator Shockwave?::

::Affirmative. Target acquiring had been successful. Mission completed. Report back for duty. Shockwave over and out.::

::Copy that. Rustbolt over and out.::

Shockwave returned to working on his Dark Energon synthesis project, satisfied with the task efficiency of his first test subject, and if he was even capable of emotions, looking forward to experimenting on the second, dared he say.

* * *

Author's note: _warning: graphic demonstration of death and torture next chapter._


	26. Chapter 4 - Part 14

PART 14  
#Rise of the Gladiator

 _A society built around a grand Cybertronian taxonomy, obsessively revised and reinterpreted, the one thing that never changes, the one thing that must never change, is the system itself._

The two gladiators bowed down to each other. The deafening sound of horns and bugles blared around the arena, amplified tenfold by its voluminous size, an impressive capacity of more than thousands of mecha at once. The entire area honoured one of the greatest architectural accomplishment of the Golden Age that outstood deterioration, overcame time and space and outlasted any fluctuating trends. It exhibited one of the greatest art of Cybertronian culture, the majesty of death, lethargy and destruction. It bore witness to the greatest combats to had ever taken place in the universe, saw the rise to glory and fame of many predecessors, and witnessed just as much deactivations of whom whose reign had past. The coliseum where sacred battles transpired, where the cries of victory and triumphant overlapped those of misery and torment, where legends were born, forged in flame and sent away in grandeur. The historic landmark that embodied the beauty of warfare, lustrous and worshipped, preserving its value through the unforgiving cruelty of political revolution and unrealistic idealism, stood tall with all of its might, replenished with the Energon of warriors fallen and jocundity of the spectators, shall last for millenia to come.

Within the indistinguishable ocean of mecha occupying every spare mechano yard of the ampitheater, the vacant battleground remained at a complete standstill. The two fighters were still maintaining the perfect bended position, though their optics met. With each slightest movement of the frame, they seized each other up and learnt every flaw, any exploitable weakness, any uncoordinated mistake to take advantage of. The air was dry, warm and thick, matching the tenseful atmosphere that could even be sliced open with a dull knife. Despite the vociferous viewers' demand for Energon shed and dissected frames, the two combatants reached a state of total concentration, the white noise only a faint blur in their dormant consciousness, while any processing circuits were shut off one by one and energy flow rerouted to support hydraulic pumps and motor functions. Grease and coolant flushed to mobilize major joints and conjunctions, while the more vulnerable components were put in lockdown and heavily guarded behind layers of armor. As their optics met again, a silent conversation was exchanged – one privileged only to the truest of fighters, one of luck and good-fortune. The better of the gladiators never resort to a dirty trick – the battle was all but a show, a state of the art, a showcase for each player to exhibit their abilities and prove their worth to the best, and whatever came to be with either participants, the painting would have been done – one of annihilation and eradication. With one last blow of the battle horn, the fight began, and the air was filled with utter silence and serenity, as if preparing itself for the incoming carnage. The two rushed at one another, weapons fully drawn and raised high as the combatants closed in.

 _Every revision, every reinterpretation of takes place within a rigid framework of social stratification. Nothing must threaten the functionists' core philosophy: utility as an organizing principle._

The first blows were exchanged, not as forceful as both could let out, for the initial strike was meant to test their compability in this deadly match. A perfectly blocked counterattack not only told them both that the match would be beautiful, but also long and durable. A quick jab in the abdominal plating and the other mech sidestepped, the two engaged in a game of chase-and-catch as they seemed to blur in and out of one another, never really making physical contact. The crowd remained silent still, yet to be impressed by the amateur show of swiftness and agility.

 _Step outside of the system would you recognize it for what it is: a prison. Worse, it is a prison full of willing prisoners. And not only are the prisoners subjugated to the system, they are subjugated within their own body. Whether they were born or made, forged or constructed cold, they are trapped inside their alt-mode. It is the Functionists who built the lock and the Senate who held the key, though ignorance and unawareness are to be blamed in the imprisonment of free-will._

Moving on to the next phase, the two combatants withdrew from each other and gained distance, though only servo-length. As they began encircling, their optics met again, but this time in a promise of deactivation and cold muderous spree for the opponent. The real battle had yet to be started until then, and any loose armor plating clamped shut to protect the soft internal protoform, as melee instrument were primed and raised. In response to the underlying message, every spectators from the auditorium stood and cheered, while the atmosphere embraced its newest lethal portent.

 _Make no mistake: your life is mapped out in front of you, as clear as the grooves in your transformation cog. You can no more choose to change jobs than Cybertron can choose to stop orbiting the sun. You can no more acquire a skill unrelated to your vocation than the sky can acquire a conscience._

The silver mech released a thunderous battle roar as he brought his hatchet down on the other's chestplate, but was blocked by an interlocked pair of dual daggers, the three weapon clashing at the epicenter of collision and knocking the offensive backwards by the blunt force of his own charge. The other mech then powered his thruster peds and perform an elegant spin mid-air before slamming his dagger with all the accumulating momentum on the ground where his opponent's helm used to rest just mere nanoklicks before, splitting the surface upon impact. The crowd was cheering merrily when the silver mech rolled out of harm's way and regained his shaky pedstand, just in time to intercept the other mech's charge with a shoulder dash of his own. As the mech was thrown off equilibrium and lost his balance, the silver warrior slammed into his abdominal plating helm-first, the force of his weight propelling the mech several mechano yards into the air in a perfect hyperbol.

 _In denying someone the ability to reject their alt-mode – in preventing someone from pursuing a path of their own choosing – both the senate and the council say they are acting in their best interests. They "have a responsibility", to "ensure that they make best use of their 'god-given' form". If someone turns into a drill, it is because Primus knows that Cybertron needs drills. To deviate from their function is to risk invoking the wrath of god and bringing the world to its knees._

As his opponent approached, the mech still laid completely still on the ground, with no movements at all to indicate his operation status. As the silver mech bent down to inspect his fallen nemesis, the mech suddenly surged back to life, a dagger unsubspaced extruded from his servo was swung in a wide arch, slicing one of his rival's vital wiring off clean. As the silver mech stumbled backwards, Energon flooding from his chestplate in a constant flowing stream, the other mech did a reverse-somersault and kicked at the crook of his helm-joint, hurling him flying face-down overhead the mech and land rolling all the way across the coliseum. While struggling to regain upright position and dismissing all malfunction notifications clouding his HUD, his damaged audio receptors rendered the encouragements of mecha from all around them to his opponent to finish him off, all the while his interupted EM field registered an approaching hostile in a three-mechano-meter radius. Activating his subspace pocket, the silver mech armed himself with a small weapon, discreetly concealed inside his closed fist as he sat serenely, awaiting his enemy to walk right into his trap.

 _In truth, it is about control. A multi-skilled population is an empowered population. And if someone reject their alt-mode, there would be no telling what would come next. They might reject their class, or even their government._

The instance the mech arrived within his servo range, he reacted. A jack-sweep knocked the mech off his peds and onto the ground, while he was still recovering he delivered punches after punches at the enemy's faceplate. As the adversary attempted to block off his assault with his servos, the mech instantly attached the device onto his servo-joint crevice and scurried away in alt-mode. Before his opponent could even register what had happened, his left servo had been dislocated out of the socket, and by the time he actually noticed the strained thin cord connecting his joint with the gladiator's rear, his entire left arm had already been dislodged from his frame in a flurry of fiery sparks. As he tried to cut the cord with his other servo, his opponent had already been far away enough to detonate the device, and after a splatter of Energon the mech now found himself decapacitated without any servo left. The crowd cheered in an explosive wave of commendation for his opponent's wits, while some declared his certain fate of deactivation as the outcome of the match drew even closer.

 _The Functionists don't rely solely on theology when rebutting arguments for change. And it is true, mecha would be unnerved at first. But the Functionists – whom were abled by the Senate – have created the conditions that have given rise to this culture of suspicion; and they have done so deliberately, because it reinforces the status quo. Moreover, it fosters division, and division is another means by which they can control the population. The more walls you can put up between mecha, the easier it is to contain them, and the stronger the structural integrity of the system._

The silver gladiator unsubspaced his long range rifle and with a well-placed shot, hit the mech right in his transformation cog, jamming him in his bipedal mode for the time being. Without any servo to defend himself with, the mech was nothing more than a shooting practice target, and he was rendered even more vulnerable when his only means of escape was taken out. The mech sat still, slumped in his spot, visually appearing as acceptance of his imminent deactivation and inevitable fate. But the audience hadn't been satisfied with the match yet, they wanted more gory and carnage. An exosuit was thrown to the mech from somewhere higher up the ampitheater, and the disabled gladiator accepted it with gratitude. As whatever left of his damaged frame bonded with the suit, the crowd cheered even more deafening than before at the sight of a confrontation between the infamous gladiator and the newest piece of high-tech produced by Senator Shockwave himself.

 _Even if someone believe in the grand Cybertronian taxonomy, they would need to ask themselves this: "Who decides on that order?", "Why should there be an order?" That is what the Senate and Functionists fear the most, because they know their world would collapse if anyone arrived at the answer: "There SHOULDN'T be."_

The gigantic opponent rushed at him, with a speed he never thought was possible, forcing him to barrel roll aside to avoid being crushed. The crowds went completely crazy as his adversary charged at him again, but he wouldn't allow them the satisfaction twice. With an in-built battle processor unknown to most, the silver tankformer sped out of danger in vehicle mode while trailing his tactical sensors on the target, searching for any exploitable weakness to make use of. What he _didn't_ expect, however, was for the other mech to transform into jet mode and land rounds of piercing laser fire down on his front hull. Though they barely left a lasting injury with how thick his alt-mode overshield was, it certainly did more to his pain grid than just scratch at paint nanites, for he found himself unable to activate transformation sequence just when the jet made a bombing strafe right above his shooting range. The radius of the blast was eradical, the residue seismic waves alone enough to exterminate his spark had he not acquired mobility and agility through the sacrifice of his alt-mode – the adrenaline pump dampened the pain from manually ripping out his T-cog unregistrable. Successfully disabling his best move from combat, the jet landed and shifted back into bipedal mode so as to appease the audiences, while the two engaged in a final confrontation in the center of the coliseum.

" _Be happy in your work", they say, "for it enriches you." "Be grateful for your alt-mode, for it defines you." "Be thankful for the system – it protects you." "Be mindful of your betters – they think for you."_

The gladiator rushed helm-first at his nemesis in what seems like a desperate last attempt, his hatchet unsubspaced and raised high in the air, yet on his other servo, the mech subtly opened one of his physical compartment to retrieve a tiny tool - one he yielded with even more force than the hatchet. As the two combatants engaged in close-quarter combat, the gladiator hacked with half his strength on the mech's servo armor plating, the attack bouncing off harmlessly provided enough of a distraction to throw the opponent off-guard, creating the perfect opening for him to carry out his desired move. The tiny laser scapel didn't aim at the chest plating as the mech had been tricked to believe and blocked, it stabbed into the mech's helm-joint instead and sever the most vital motor cortex, rendering the exosuit immobile and nothing more than a heavy dead weight. The crowd all went silent, none able to foresee it coming, but the mech couldn't care less about them. Vengence overtook his shrouded processor as he picked his fallen nemesis up by the helm.

 _He had enough._

With a twist of the servo, he cracked open the exosuit like it was made of rust material, revealing the broken frame of a fallen gladiator. As the suit was disposed off in pieces, the mech began whining, weaping, sobbing and all sorts of activities that displayed weakness, requesting mercy, or at least a quick, painless death. He flailed his limbs around frantically, trying to get through to his opponent's conscience with his endless pleads. He made a terrible mistake, however, building assumptions on the conjecture that based mainly on the character composition of the gladiator, not realizing that one may not be left for him to appease to.

 _Reject your work. Reject your alt-mode. Resist the system._

Then came the most prized section of every fight: the execution. The crowd resumed their incessive clamor in expectation of merciless brutality, and the executioner found himself yearning for more. With his sharp talons, he dug into a bunch of sensitive wirings at the exposed sockets where his adversary's arm used to rest in. The agony he was capable of creating was vocalized into screams and shrieks, which only helped encourage the ampitheater to give an even more vibrant feedback. Yet, he found the aspect of appeasing his audience not as satisfying as enjoying the delicious scream emitted from his enemy's vocalizer. Tugging at another bunch of sensitive internals, he pulled them gently at first, letting the strain build up casually until the pain became unbearable, before finally snapping the wires with his pointy claws. The resulting yell put him into a world of ecstacy as he slowly consumed every once of tolerance and sufferance he granted his nemesis, while the entire auditorium cheered even louder if possible. Seeing Energon droplets dripping onto the ground made him crave for more, and so he grabbed the peds and pulled.

 _Your so-called "betters"? There are none._

A sickening crack rang out, amplified through the spacious arena and staccated by his opponent's torturous screech sounded like soft music to his audio receptors. The entire ampitheater voiced their agreement to his sentiments, and the mech couldn't stop the sadistic desires from asserting dominance over him as he dislocated the other ped in a swift, sudden movement. His enemy cried out with the insufferable torment, and every sound emitted from the mech's vocalizer filled his own with delish and delightment. And so the kept repeating the process bit by bit, until the mech was throroughly decapitated, his helm torn off from his torso in a gory act of pure hydraulic strength, Energon splattering all across silver armor. The mech then dropped the lifeless spark on the ground and turned towards his crowd, where the ocean of mecha all took to their peds to celebrate his triumph. A janitary crew flooded the battleground to clean up the mess, and the mech stood proudly above his fallen adversary as he received commendations for his strength, wits and technique. The auditorium began chanting his name in rhythm, and he allowed himself the luxury of revelling in the community's favouritism.

"Rise, warrior, for you have acquired victory!"

"All hail Megatronus!"

"All hail Megatronus!"

The battle was nothing out of the ordinary for the life of a gladiator, and his performance that particular cycle was excellent as always, though hardly exceptional. Ever since the incident, he had been thrown into cages, forced to fight to fend for himself and his own life. It was a sense of strong will and extreme determination that saw him through the hardships of a gladiator's life and transform the poetic miner into the best fighter to ever graze the Kaon rings with his presence. Throughout his time in the coliseum, only one single thought kept his flame of survival burning above all: to gain vengence of the mech who overthrown his entire Autobot empire, massacred hundreds of his brothers and sisters, and dared to abuse the name of justice to bend it to his own will. The mech who fooled with his emotions and took their sacred sparkbond for a tool at manipulation, who ruined the work of his life just by a single mistake, who took his sincerity for granted and hindered him for so long on his divine destiny towards true greatness.

No longer shall that contemptible mech roam free, for Megatron had condemned him to a fate worse than deactivation; one of eternal shame and regret. He would seek out and find justice for every one of his fallen comrades, and he would make the mech pay dearly for his sins.

With the grim determination set deeply in mind, he prosecuted his carefully-crafted plan. A short burst of his automatic rifle took quick care of the staff members before they initiated lockdown protocol, and before anyone could remedy the trojan cyberhorse he planted in the mainframe, the silver gladiator had already infiltrated the auditorium through the air vents, while unknowing spectators were still interacting with his hologram. The inflicted malfunction effectively took out all security footage, and the mech had no trouble blending in with the flow of exiting viewers on his way out. A simple holographic disguise camouflaged his infamous appearance, and in a city of construction and military frametypes a leaking mech wouldn't even stand out enough to evoke suspicion. By the time he breached Kaon's city barrier, his hologram had already been programmed to recite his masterpiece "Towards Peace", alongside with a short encrypted message to reconcile with him at a chosen destination for any of his followers and proponents.

The moment he reactivated his HUD, it was swarmed and overflowed with responses, confirmation of their support and aid. He quickly dismissed everything in favor of addressing the important mech who orchestrated his entire getaway.

::Soundwave! Have you made your escape yet?::

::Affirmative. Megatron's disappearance: tremendous distraction. Escape: briefly disregarded as insignificant and dismissed without further ado.::

::Excellent work, Soundwave. Tell the mecha to meet up at the gates of Iacon.::

::Advise: not direct approach. Reinforcement: heavy, armed. Prediction of outcome: unsuccessful. Evaluation of achievement: slim to none.::

::So you said about my getaway. Now did it work?::

::Negative. Circumstances: different.::

::Just trust me, now. I will value and cherish your faith in me, and failure shall not be tolerated!::

::Warning: exercise caution.::

::Always am, Soundwave. Always am.::

::Commander Megatron? Permisson to drop formalities?::

::Permission granted.::

::This will not be a repeat of what happened with Orion. Do not worry too much.::

::I am not, Soundwave, because I know you have my back. Now, I want a private comm line to all confirmation messages.::

::Line: established, secured. Speech: ready to transmit.::

::Mecha who heeded my call! I ensure you all that you made the right decision. For too long had we been abused, lied to and enslaved, and we shall not tolerate one nanoklick further. We are all equal. And we have a right to decide how to live our lives. We will not make the same mistakes the Autobots did before, we shall not be weaklings! We hit hard, fast, and do whatever it takes to accomplish our goal! Remember, mecha, that peace can only be achieved through tyranny! It is time for you to join me in my stance. Those who follow me, we shall proudly bear the sigil and denomination of **Decepticons**! Let it serve as a symbol to remind us of our one true sacred goal through times of hardship and distress! We are proud to be Decepticons! All hail Decepticons! All hail Megatron!::

The responses they received were spontaneous. _::Hail Megatron! Hail Megatron! Hail Megatron!::_

Nestled deep beneath his consciousness, the Thirteenth Prime was contented, for the spark of war had been ignited. Cybertron shall bear witness to a disaster like no other, and the Cybertronian race as a whole would come to face with extinction and eradication just like their predecessors. Once again, his mission had been accomplished.


	27. Chapter 4 - Part 15

PART 15  
#Movement

Megatron never had a doubt about his followers or their faith in him. Hence, he wasn't as surprised when the troop he collected on his way to Iacon easily outnumbered that of the entire planet's Enforcer forces itself, though if anything they reinforced his idealism even more. His supporters were varied in frametypes and sizes, subsuming – but not limited to – military, construction, and plenty of airborne units, including an entire city of Vos, where the Cybertronian jets specifically called the Seekers had made their peace and locked away from the world for a very long time. In fact, their amalgamation had been more troublesome than most, the leader an alpha Seeker with the designation of Starscream had been too verbal for his, or anyone else's comfort, and it took Soundwave to open a diplomatic conference discussing the political importance of the cause to one of his more stoic trinemates, Thundercracker, to win them over. Even when he had thrown away all his pride to resort to giving the mech the position of Second-in-Command, trust was still something so fragile and untangible now, yet Megatron understood the great combat ability of the warrior culture and their vital contribution to his forces in the air.

Since then, the trip to Iacon had been uneventful, and with his push the entire army traversed halfway across the planet in less than 2 decacycles. They hadn't encountered any sources of resistance yet, though there certainly were mecha with prejudiced idealism. Without an actual fuse to blow up the war, up until then they were still considered a peaceful riot, which to the laws of Cybertron wasn't illegal. That, and mostly the fact that he and his army's intimidation in numbers and strength had probably served to discourage most mecha, even the Enforcers themselves, from taking hostile action.

That said, there was still a specific exception from Praxus as he passed through, presented in the active opposition of a mech designated Prowl, the very Chief Enforcement Officer himself. The mech closed the gates of his city state as they reached it, then demanded a public meeting with him as leaders of both "factions" to express his purpose of "gathering an army" and "marching across the planet in a clear act of asserting unjust and manipulation over civilians, as well as undermining the government and law enforcement's value." It would be a devastating hit to the Decepticons' reputation, especially since even before their first battle, but thanks to Soundwave who found an alternative route through Unicron's crash site the public exploitation never happened.

As relieved Megatron was, he understood that such risks shouldn't be taken anymore, and that their transportation needed to be sped up. Taking advantage of an unmaintained run-down highway that ran from Polyhex to Altihex, the Decepticons moved in alt-mode for 3 cycles before dropping off near Kalis, where they made the rest of their journey on peds. It had taken another cycle before they finally reached Iacon, and upon arrival his troops were all exhausted and worn out. He felt the urge to personally rally the troops and saw it to them to fullfil their needs, so he allowed setting up camps in the outskirts of the city state for the off-cycle while he himself performed reconnaissance mission to scout for a way in.

Currently, Megatron was crawling under the complex drainage system surrounding the city to scour for a reliable entrance, seeing as they couldn't risk the official gates locking them outside after the conflict with Prowl previously. The pipelines ran for miles of mechano measurement system, and while he himself couldn't possibly cover all grounds in one off-cycle he enlisted the assistance of Soundwave and his carrier frametype's cassetteformers. During a covert operation such as this, the ultimate attribute to attend to would be discretion and subtlety, and that was the exact reason why he knew it would blew over as two large explosions trembled the city foundation just as the twins Frenzy and Rumble were out of his optic sight.

::Soundwave! What was that?!::

::Frenzy and Rumble: volatile, eager to cause destruction and mayhem. Tremblance: result of detonated Detpacks. Purpose: clear out debris blocking city entrance from pipeline.::

::They are your minions! Discipline them! Their insubordination might have just cost us the entire war itself before we even started!::

::Affirmative. Orders?::

::For now, let us inspect the explosion sites first and see if it had done any good just yet. So far, I haven't found any other breach through the perimeter. Any luck?::

::Negative.::

::You take Rumble's path, I take Frenzy's. Remember to proceed with extreme caution, the investigator drones must have swarmed the site by now. Take any necessary measurements to preserve our secrecy. Megatron out.::

::Affirmative. Soundwave out.::

Step by painstaking step, Megatron drew closer to the site, his spark pulsing frantically in its chamber to replicate his own anxiety and wariness. Arming himself with the infamous hatchet unsubspaced, he dashed to a closest pile of rubble the instant he heard any faint noise. The air had yet to be cleared, smoke swamped the air and overwhelmed his every senses forcing the mech to clamp down on his vents and respire with internal filter for the moment. Activating night vision radar, he spotted two heat signatures making their path towards his general direction, their pace quick and closing in fast. With complete stillness, Megatron shut down his entire system, keeping only the vitals online so as to silence the mechanical whirring of his large gladiatorial built. Yet, he failed to account for his comm system, as it crackled to life with an alarming buzz just as the hostile nearly approached his hideout.

::Commander Megatron. Rumble: found. Integrity of pipeline: compromised. Caution: proceed with delicacy. Soundwave over.::

The two hostile instantly picked up on his comm signal and advanced to his hiding location in a sparkpulse. He raised his battle hatchet and rushed out to silence them-

-to realize the two very familiar frame shape of two certain cassettes he knew, one in blue paint scheme and the other red. The two were already armed with their piledrivers and was ready to pound on him, though they quickly realized their mistake.

"Commander Megatron! We didn't see you coming!"

"Neither did we recognize you! Hey Frenzy, YOU said it was an investigation drone!"

"No, I said no such thing. In fact, it was YOU who all but outright confirmed it!"

Leaving the two to their incessant bantering, he radioed Soundwave for a check in, when his processor finally connected the dots.

"Wait… you are Rumble?" He addressed the red one.

"Yes, commander Megatron. Oh please don't deactivate me! Please don't, I swear it was Frenzy's fault!"

"Silent! The two of you were together all along?" He then addressed the blue cassetteformer.

"Erm… pretty certain you didn't mean 'together' as in 'fragmates', because that would be disgusting, considering we're twins and that would be incest and all…

"Not _that_! I meant this recon mission!"

"Oh." The awkward silence that followed after matched both of their embarassment, and it took Megatron shivering his hatchet to produce a glimmer of metallic light for the both of them to refocus on his query.

"Yeah, we were together since the start. What kind of a question is that?"

"Then who blew the Detpack?"

"See, I've told you Rumble, you shouldn't've detonated the Detpack! What you should've done is listen to my orders, and now your insubordination will get the both of us deactivated! Commander Megatron, I give you my word that Rumble will take responsibility for his misdeed and receive proper disciplination, please don't deactivated him or me just yet."

"My fault my _aft!_ It was YOU who wanted to plant the Detpack in the first place!"

Leaving the two to resolute their conflict of blame-shifting, Megatron moved out of vicinity as he urgently radioed his TIC. ::Soundwave! The mech whom you perceived as Rumble is a fraud impersonator! The real Rumble remained here with me and Frenzy! That second Detpack explosion wasn't caused by any of them! Do not engage, I repeat, _do not engage_! Soundwave? Soundwave! Come in and reply to me, Soundwave!::

Though his radio transmission never reached its intended target, whom was being dragged unconscious through the drainage system by a pair of black servos. The owner of which paused a few nanoklicks to response to a comm message, his faceplate half-concealed by a battle mask, leaving only the blue bright pair of optics as an indication of his true identity. His chestplate, however, bore a large yellow symbol of the Enforcers' emblem, along with a dash of yellow nanites to demonstrate his high ranks in the force.

His helm did display one more distinctive recognition feature: a red chevrolet across his forehelm.


	28. Chapter 4 - Part 16

PART 16  
#Sparkbroken

Another morning came to the land of Cybertron, reviving everything with a new wave of life and vivification. The sun started its daily orbit around the planet, shining fresh glimmers of sunray upon anything in its wake. Light flooded the atmosphere, brightened the sky, reflected off metallic shine and mirror surfaces of buildings and skycrappers, filling the city in its enlightened warmth and comfort. Mecha began to resume their habitual work, either it be industrial mass-production or medical healthcare, military law enforcement or official pollitical matters, each individual attended to their own life, none inteferring with the other. It was just another peaceful cycle on the planet of Cybertron, no more extraordinary than any other.

Except that the specific cycle would go down in history as the historical cycle when everything changed for the Cybertronians, forever cursed not to be the same ever again, from the most simple of fundaments to the deepest consequential influences. Mere words didn't describe to the full potential of its value: the conjunction of monumental eras, the very date when the planet splitted sides and every mech was required to make a selection, the moment the core element of survival shifted, whence seperating the forces of oppositional power for millenias and even more, forging the eon-old hatred and sparking the fury flame of war that remained furious for centuries to come. It was the day that the Great War was born, raised and blossomed into being, and though most mecha didn't know it at the moment, by the end of the cycle, their fate would forever be set in stone.

From the borderline of Iacon stood Megatron, a mech with great ambition and the will to change the ways of the world. Underneath him laid an army – an entire ocean of mecha, belligerent and with a commensurate ammount of ammunition, more than enthusiastic to make their voice heard through the use of whatever means necessary, whether it be verbal or violent. Together, the Decepticons marched towards the highest tower of Cybertron - home to the Councilboard and Senate, the disseminating nascency of the corruption itself - determined to see it fall, to trample past and leave nothing behind but a trail of destruction to atone to their sins. They advanced forwards, layers and layers of mecha following each other in perfect sync, impeccably so much they would diminish the definition of the word unison itself: an indomitable riot of the civilians, of the lower stratifications standing up to regain justice and freedom of their own, to protect what were theirs to had come to know and love dearly. They would eradicate the system, once and for all.

Though the cycle saw not only one, but two great factions of the Great War, and from the suburban area a fortified line of Autobot defense stood their ground. The mecha there were untrained and inexperienced, non-combatant frametypes, with minuscule size and modest-matching weaponries, though they remained unshifting in the face of the incoming armada. The offensive kept drawing closer until their distance were reduced to simple fields of mechano yards in length and area, and soon it all boiled down into a battle of the pure strength of will. With neither of the factions budging an inch, both leaders were inclined to take position and began negotiation before the rising tension escalated into an active warzone. As Megatron stepped up the rows of Decepticons, he was flabbergasted, yet somehow unsurprised, when his equivalent from Autobots was none other than Orion Pax himself.

Stuffing all the hot fury down his exhaust pipe for diplomacy's sake, he broke the awkward staring contest with a haunty taunt. "Well, well, well. Isn't it a ghost from a distant past whom I owe the privilage of speaking to?"

But the other mech was still completely frozen up in place, presenting indications of a nasty processor malfunction, as he kept still only to stare at Megatron's optics, unbelief radiated off his facelate in tangible waves. It took nearly a klick to coax any response out of him, and even that was just the battle mask disengaging to reveal his vent port, open widely aghast. "Me… Megatron? You're… alive? HOW?"

In complete sincerity, Megatron would have to admit to feeling a slight confusion at Orion's overemphasis of a reaction himself. "Well, my spark is pulsing, my vents are cycling air, my Energon is being pumped through my veins, my processor is… well, processing, inputs and calculating outputs… So, yeah, you got the general impression." He decided that silent awkwardness wasn't what he had been expecting for, and it did put him in a position of extemporaneity which Megatron found himself not favouring so much, so he diverted the atmosphere with a skeptical sarcastic retort, though it hardly provoked the anticipated results. "OR, you can ask that brilliant medic of yours, who seemed to have occupied my position of strategic adviser pretty well since my absence." He gestured at the white and red CMO standing unnaturally rigid by Orion's right, who – if Megatron was any good at reading frame language – showed signs of… remorse?

"But… I _thought_ you were deactivated! I saw you coming to pieces with my own optics!" Orion exclaimed, still not thoroughly believed in his optical sensors yet.

Taking a deep vent to calm himself, Megatron continued. "Well then, a certain someone I know, correction - knew, seemed not too dissatisfied with that." He glared daggers at the medic, who – if even possible – was curling within himself even smaller. "I even recall the same course of events occuring that same cycle as you, Orion, and how such versatile an actor you were that cycle, completely fooled me, by the way. Oh, you've still got it, then. I see all that acting skills still haven't dulled through time since the last we met, huh? You totally nailed that passionately-in-love classic, I've got to give you credit for _that_." He stretched the ending syllable out to place emphasis on his abhorrence for dishonesty, the message comprehended loud and clear judging by the look on Orion's exposed faceplate. Behind their backs, their respective armies began whispering in hushed tones about the complication taking place, some just out of nosiness or curiosity, some even as bold as raising doubt at their dedication to their cause. He recognized one of them from the Autobot's ranks, one that went by the designation Straxus.

"I see traitorous had been a trait of specific requirement prerequisite for the application of the Autobot's cause as of late? You certainly harbour plenty underneath that polished cover of yours. Not so startling, however, taken into consideration their actual leader is one with very convincing acting abilities." Megatron smirked, satisfied at the shocked expression displayed on Orion's faceplate upon hearing his words.

That stupefied state was short-lived and quickly replaced by one of anger and agony, though. "Who are you and what have you done to Megatron? You impersonate his frame and steal his voice, but you can never replicate his spark. The Megatron I knew was never this ruthless or brutal, he had the kindest spark I'd ever had the fortune to know and love. You are nothing but a cheap copy!" Orion accused, his bright blue optics bristling with unadulterated aggravation foreign to a mech with such stoic patience like himself.

Cackling maniacally, the gladiator replied. "Oh, but is it truly? _Surely_ you would've remembered _this_!" He then tore open his own chestplate armor to reveal his glowing sparkchamber's cover, the soft protoform casing carved with the initials of their entertwined designations, the curvy "M" circumfenced inside the sloppy "O", both seared black as a distinctive signature of the medical-grade laser scapel. "Or perhaps you _didn't_ remember at all, considering how many lives you were leading at the moment… Yet, _I_ still remember everything you said to me – as the foolishly-in-love idiot that I was, totally wrapped up in your servos without realizing the true extent of your deceit. You _manipulated_ me into grafting this ridiculous display of affection – weakness – onto my spark casing, which needless for me to remind you, hurt like _pit_." Megatron paused suddenly to gaze into Orion's optics and let the gravity of his confession settle down before continued speaking.

"But I tolerated, for your so-called "love". Not only did I allow you to inscribe that huge shameful circle on it, but I was also _encouraged_ , with your _lies_ and _promises_ , to inscribe a symbol of my own as well. So you held up a mirror for me to look at the reflection of my own spark casing, just so I could _torture_ myself through the _pit_ again writing that "M" meticulously inside the circle you sloppily drew. Now that I think of it, why _didn't_ I realize your true malice just through that lack of commitment?" Megatron paused again, but this time to avoid Orion's optics, which was already leaking coolant at the mention of their shared fragment of memory. "Oh, right, I can _still_ repeat word for word what _nonsense_ you fed my naïve younger self that particular off-cycle: 'Let this symbol be the sacred representation of our love, so that-

-it may bring our bond to the ethereal realm as we reunite in the Well of Allsparks.' Orion interrupted, his optics now teary as coolant flushed out in a steady stream. Clearly taken aback by this revelance, Megatron instantly continued.

'Let our ties render us inseparable, for each could never be complete once again without the other, for our love-

-to be reincarnated, materialized and concretized to the frequency of our every synchronized sparkpulse.' Even Megatron's optics were glimmering with coolant by this time. Determined not to display any signs of weakness to his entire army, he quickly resumed.

'Let the countless stars littering the dark sky bear evidence to our religious ceremony-

-as we merge from two beings into one entity only, of pure and utter consentment.' Orion had already been sprinting over the fields to close the rest of their distance, and though Megatron remained unmoving, it wasn't because of his hatred for the mech holding him back, but rather the fear and uncertainty, that perhaps, there was even but a slightest chance, that everything they had was true, and that Orion really loved him. As much as he did the mech.

'Let my love for you, and your love for me, shine the way on our path-

-and interconnect it forever.' The mech was standing frozen in front of him by now, their proximity close enough that all it took was an extended servo and they would finally touch, again. It was the fear of rejection that imprisoned Orion from taking that last step, and for Megatron it was the confirmation about the validity of their relationship, one he had always dreaded, ever since his cycles in the gladiator; one that would uproot any of the accumulating anger for Orion, threaten the burning flame that pursued him on his pathway to liberty, to survival from the deadly battles, then to stay on track through out their entire trip across the planet. Megatron was _that_ close, and yet still too further away from reuniting with his mech.

Orion _knew_ he was close to breaking through to his lover, so he recalled every bit and pieces of memory in his logs that were still intact. "It was the vows we exchanged when we were performing the sparkbond ritual. The night you told me about your insecurities, about your emotions for me, when you knew about Shockwave-

Megatron grabbed hold of his helm and crashed his own liplates into Orion's own, their glossa entwining and sharing the heat between short burst of ventilation system overloading. For a fraction of a nanoklick, Megatron – his Megatron – was back, _real,_ tender and sweet, caring and loving, holding on to him and never letting go like both of them had sworn to. The kiss they shared was brief, but displayed every evidence Orion had needed to confirm that, yes, the one and only mech for him was _back_ , _together_ , with _him_ , the way they were _always_ supposed to be. It was like Orion's very own sanctuary of peace and happiness, ever since the destiny cycle, all he had ever wished for was that exact same moment, and nothing – not even leading the rebelion, overtaking cities, gaining reign or restoring justice could even outmatch his one burning desire. He'd thought he had lost Megatron forever before he even got the chance to cherish the most valuable treasure of his life, and this one opportunity to reconcile with him, to tell him how sorry he was for everything, how _badly_ , how _desperately_ he just wanted Megatron back, how _depravedly_ he had needed Megatron in his life – it all just sounded too good to be true, that Orion had trouble believing in himself, convincing himself that, no, this wasn't another one of his late off-cycle fantasy and yes, Megatron was freakily somehow _alive_ , _real_ , and here with _him_ , to make his whole world better again.

Yet, his intuition never fails him, not later as a Prime and not even before as Orion Pax. So when it told him something was wrong, he knew there was problem. Looking upwards, he felt droplets of coolant landing on his cheeks everytime their liplates made contact, and another inspection at Megatron showed the mech crying – something he had never done, not even back in the time they were together – Orion couldn't tell what its purpose was, but even without the sparkbond sharing emotions he knew those weren't tears of consentment. So he grabbed Megatron's faceplate and stop the mech, despite how sparkbreaking the action of severing their short moment of reunion was to him, to look at his sparkmate in the optics. The same ruby red optics that had always been expressive from the start back in that holding cell, always filled with unmentionable affection for him. Those optics were deep, soulful, and filled with hope, yet struggling and laborous, as if Megatron was… fighting _over_ something. _For_ something, conjunctively for dominance or power of some sort.

"Megatron?"

The mech didn't respond, though he did smile at Orion – not the previous taunting one, but a true, sincere smirk, brandished with Megatron's own trademark infamous smirk – and locked optics with his for a moment, where the two did nothing but stare at one another, to his utter and complete bewilderent. He felt Megatron's servos on his helm trembling and the mech's pedstand wavering, so he tried to bend down and offer support, but Megatron's shaking servos kept his helm in position, at optic level with Megatron's own. Before he even insisted anything, Megatron's liplates started to quiver as it tried to pronounce a coherent word, despite his rigorous effort at battling whatever was clearly overtaking his frame and consciousness altogether. Orion strained his own audio receptors configuration to catch a faint semblance of a broken syllable: "…ooo…

"Megatron? 'Ooo'? What's 'ooo'?"

"…ooo…ay…

"What? Love, please tell me, we can deal with this, whatever it is, together."

"…ooo…kkktt…ay…fffzz…

"Yes? C'mon, tell me! What is it?"

"Sss…ooo… Arghhhh!"

Before Orion even got the chance to process whatever message Megatron was trying to communicate with him, he was hit with a suckle punch by the same strong gladiator's servo that sent him rolling rounds downhill the valley they were standing atop of. The sound of gunshot ringing out in his audio receptors were the only indication of what was happening next as Orion kept rolling down the slope which seemed to last forever, his equilibrium a total wreck with the fall's turbulence rendering him incapacitated to aid his comrades from afar as they rushed into battle. Stuffing away all concerns for his army, he set focus back to the task at hand, as the Megatron-imposer closed in on his position, a servo-attached Fusion canon powering to life in a crackling surge of energy, blurring his cracked optics and blinded him temporarily, vulnerable to the enemy's assault.

He knew whatever small part of his lover that he managed to reach was already gone, and now in the place of his one and only betrothed stood a monster, ready to separate a mech and his bondmate, and to use that very frame of his bondmate to wage war and dishonour the mech he had come to know and love.

Orion charged up his own unsubspaced rifle and primed the battle axe with the other servo. He could certainly use a target to vent his frustration upon, and the being impersonating his beloved was itching for a lesson not to mess with him ever again.


	29. Chapter 4 - Part 17

PART 17  
#Clash of Power

"You will deactivate me? Your own brother? Your beloved? Just to save, what? An entire city state full of corrupted Senators and hypocritical Functionists?" The two kept circling around one another, sizing up their opponent as they engaged their melee weapons from subspace pocket, an axe for Orion and a metal hatchet for Megatron.

"I'll do what I must, to save this city! You are planning to eradicate an entire neighborhood! There are still innocent civilians there! Your army would crush through them without a second fickle of thought!" Orion snapped his battle mask in place with an audible _click_ , before crouching down low to gain better pedstand.

"Don't speak as if this doesn't involve them, because this is as much a war for them as it is for us!" With that said, Megatron backslashed him with his battle hatchet, forcing him to jump back, while the mech continued to advance more grounds. "We are fighting for freedom and justice, a common goal that every Cybertronian should be dedicated to with all of their spark! If any life were lost within the conflict, it would be a righteous sacrifice!" With a thunderous battle roar, the two charged at each other again. "If they do not stand up to fight for themselves, then they are as much the enemy to us as any other Senator. They shall perish like the affiliates that they are!"

Their weapons met with a metal-on-metal resonance shaking through both their frames, while the gladiator's heavier build allowed him better balance, Orion was visibly shaken and stirred as his orientation faltered for a split-nanoklick. "This is insanity, Megatron, I know you're still in there somewhere!" Apparently, the Megatron he was addressing hadn't been responsive much as of late, for the next thing he knew his quick unconscious reflexes had already blocked a lethal swing from his opponent's well-aimed assault. He kept swinging his hatchet around fervently, though not uncoordinated, as every strike, every blow was executed with deadly accuracy and unmistakable marksmanship – something he didn't recall from the last time they had sparred, before the incident. He knew defensive only, he couldn't keep up with Megatron if he had really pulled his weight on each powerful blow, and so he had to take initiative at retaliation, starting by a light shoulder ram to push Megatron back some distance. "Stop this at once, before I am left with no option other than to hurt you!"

"A rather futile attempt, pathetic weakling. Just like in the cavern; always so hesitant to do what is required. This is what makes our difference, Orion! You run and hide when you should fight!" The mention of the incident brought back flashes of haunting memory files, and while he was distracted, Megatron well exploited it to his advantage; a quick jab in the rib left him with an incapacitating pain, and a follow-up roundhouse sweep combination got him tumbling over the ground in an instance before his processor could even register what was going on. Stepping closer, Megatron leveled his hatchet at his helm and growled. "Now _stay_ out of my way, or I shall eradicate you and your entire army!"

Orion stared defiantly at his adversary, optics deterrent and unshifting. "You want war? So _be_ it! But give me my Megatron back!"

Emitting a forceful vent of air to express his exasperation, Megatron gave him an incredulous questioning gaze. "You still haven't got it, don't you? I am Megatron, the one and only, ruler of all universe, and I was _never_ yours!" with the accusation, he lifted his hatchet and brought it down on Orion's helm joint. It didn't behead his target, but the force of the impact alone was too powerful that the hatchet splitted the surface and opened up a crevice right where it hit.

"Liar!" Orion bellowed in response, rolling out of the way of the strike as he did a back flip to recover his poised stance. "Megatron, I know you can still hear me. You must fight it!"

Struggling to pull the firmly embedded hatchet out of the deep gash on the ground, Megatron gritted his denta and snarled viciously. "Oh, _Megatron_ will fight alright. But not with me, with _you_ , traitor!"

The instant Megatron finished his speech, he launched his full weight into the air in a grand fashion, putting his entire momentum in the next slash aimed at Orion's spark chamber underneath thick chestplate - the most vital part on a mech's frame, an indicator of his seriousness in this execution attempt. Relying solely on his quick wits and uncanny senses, Orion sidestepped the attack, but not without a counter; his axe swiped at Megatron's kneecap joint, attempting to put his opponent in a position of vulnerability as the mech landed his blow on the ground where Orion used to be not a nanoklick before and was still recovering from the solid recoil as a wave of kinetic energy coursed though his entire frame, rattling his armor platings everywhere it passed. His retaliation wasn't aimed at Megatron's life, though it served to bring immeasurable pain to the hostile and render him incapacitated for as long as a non-lethal assault could. Or at least, that was what would have happened if Megatron was just any ordinary combatant; Orion had made an unaffordable mistake in basing his assumption on Megatron's pain tolerance, something the brutality of countless cycles spent fighting for his own life in the coliseum had made him well-accustomed to.

Megatron made sure Orion would remember not to make that terrible misassumption ever again when the mech closed their proximity to slap a pair of stasis cuffs onto his servo, by grabbing the same instrument of restraint and stabbed it into Orion's own chassis; the reinforced metal comprising of the instrument was tougher than normal armory or Cybertronian protoform could ever be, eons of attempting to escape the arena had taught him that lesson; and with enough force invested, which Megatron easily donated an overkill, the thing can be used as a deadly shank. It ran through Orion's glass cockpit without a hindrance, then cut a few inches deep into the vital wires and cords inside, severing a few major Energon lines in its path. Yet to recover from the shock, Orion received another barbaric torture when Megatron reached in with his own sharp talons and clawed the punctual wound even wider, before rupturing at his sensitive internals with those acute appendage, turning the few droplets of Energon leakage into a continuous stream, blocking the exit with his own servos to make them flood Orion's already exposed delicate internals. As he felt an emergency-induced stasis threatening to overide his consciousness, a sharp pain in the chest brought him back to the verge of the living as Megatron wiggled his claws around in search for a certain wiring. Gathering whatever strength he had left, Orion grabbed Megatron's servos, prepared to yank the intruder out.

Unfortunately, he wasn't quicker than Megatron, who had already found his desired target. With a flip of a switch, he activated the stasis cuff, the durable restraint instrument still operational after being plugged straight through layers of armor. It crackled to life buried in an enclosed compartment filled with Energon and surrounded by delicate circuitry, emitting a high voltage electrical surge through Orion's entire frame, giving him the most torturous chasm ever as the mech fritzed along with the electrical flow. Seeing the signs of suffering on his worst adversary should have brought Megatron more satisfaction, had he not been electrocuted along with him for having direct physical contact with the mech, though the full extent of his agony wasn't anywhere near as intense as Orion's due to the different level of exposure to the energy source. In hindsight, he should have taken into account this particular detail instead of relying too much on his pain tolerance, as now the both of them was trapped in that stance, and electricity was electricity nontheless, slowly yet surely frying his circuits.

A third figure appeared out of nowhere, ramming into the both of them with their alt-mode, severing their contact by throwing Megatron far a distance away from Orion's slumped frame and consequentially deactivating the pair of cuffs. Rather than being vengeful for the intrusion, Megatron was rather contented to be disconnected from the electrical surge which had already began numbing his senses one by one. Turning to study the identity and allegiance of the unknown mech, his sour mood was restored as the image of a white and red vanformer cleared up in front of him while his optics recalibrated.

"Ratchet… here to suffer the same fate as the faux hero, is it not?"

"Megatron! Stop dishing out your anger on him! None of this is his fault! If there is anyone to blame, then it would be me that you vent your anger upon! I was the one who orchestrated that plan of attack when you were out of commission! I chose to not exercise lethal force!"

"If it is any consolence to you, when I'm done, the both of you will have been deactivated under my own servos!"

He rushed towards where Ratchet was dragging Orion's limp, lifeless frame on the ground to a sheltered platform, hatchet primed and ready for battle, letting out a thunderous roar to express his agitation. The display was cut short, however, as the mech collapsed to the ground in a fit of cough-like vents as his filter system overloaded itself trying to purge his respiration cycle from a harmful substance released in the air.

"Sorry," Ratchet spoke to an unresponsive Megatron, knocked out cold just a few moments after his intoxication. "I can't afford to have you destroy this city, old friend or not." Then he resumed his attention span onto a small piece of tech which he recovered from the fallen gladiator's frame, opened a back panel to reroute some circuit boards, before closing it and turning it on.

When he spoke into the device, his vocalizer was modified to replicate the thick, growling qualities of Megatrons' own. "All Decepticons! This is your High commander Megatron! I hereby order an official withdrawal, effective immediately! All Decepticons units are to heed my order and evacuate from the city instantly! Any disobediance shall be severly punished upon being spotted!"


	30. Chapter 4 - Part 18

PART 18  
#Resurrection

"So… Orion, can I have a moment with you in privacy?" Ratchet addressed the question at the servants, who dutifully made themselves scarce instantly. They were crowding Orion from all direction to pamper him ready for the next upcoming ceremony, the most formal one to have been organized in at least an eon, if his history classes were to pay off.

"Yes?" Orion turned back from the huge wall-length mirror he was admiring his newest paint scheme from, facial expression steeled to reveal practically a blank slate, though the silent brooding prior didn't escape Ratchet's scrutinization.

Ever since the battle mysteriously ended with the Decepticons quickly retreating after they had gained the upper servo, the mecha of Iacon had been thoroughly confused and intimidated. They question the army that came to eradicate their home, then the mecha who stood up against that unconquerable force of nature itself, their ulterior motives, aim, target, and the reasoning behind their withdrawal; some of the Autobots themselves were left just as clueless as the civilians they were fighting to protect. Orion took it upon himself to rationalize their situation to his own troops in the upcoming ceremony, taking advantage of the broadcasted signal to relay his message across the entire planet with his new identity in hope of reaching more audiences and calming the spectators upon hearing the news. As for the time being, they would have to be satisfied with whatever information Ratchet could disclose without causing too much disturbance or disorganization.

As for the first ever collision of the two factions, the outcome wasn't as dreadful as most had anticipated: a few superficial injuries here and there, mainly stray laser bolts grazing the external armor plating, hardly any actual damages aimed at the vital organs but none permanent or irremediable, and completely no casualities at all. Either the Decpeticons had went soft on them, or it was but a simple warning, because no Autobot was under the false illusion of the true extent to what the army of military combatants could achieve if they had so wished to. The Autobot was indeed very fortunate that cycle, but there was no guarantee for the next occasion the two forces would collide, something decided only by a matter of time.

"Do you honestly believe releasing Megatron to return to his army was the right decision to make?" Ratchet temptatively asked. He turned around to check if the door panels have been tightly shut and sealed before settling down in an armchair, setting his focus on the confidential conversation.

"I still do. Believe it or not, he was still our friend, and imprisoning a mech – any mech, no less an acquaintance – would be not only unlawful, but also unjust and unfair to the mech himself." Orion austerely responded in his infamous reprimanding tone, still holding a grudge over Ratchet for even suggesting that they lock Megatron up in the first place, to which the medic shamefully avoided optical contact. Despite the long duration over whice they had known each other, the mech still managed to thoroughly chastise Ratchet everytime he wanted to.

"But he was hardly considered as innocent himself, did he not? He did just lead an entire army to attack Iacon and crush its population indifferentiative of whoever was inside, yes?"

"That is true, and I commend you for your quick wit of disabling him without causing further harm and your peaceful method of defusing the heated battle by that neat toxic injection, which I had to admit was brilliant by the way. However, going over our own moral code when establishing the Autobots and imprisoning an unconscious mech against his will is unacceptable, despite the circumstances. Be reminded that even Megatron was fueled in the spur of the moment by his anger, which is also the cause to his irrational behaviour of orchestrating an attack on the very city state he held dearly. I believe it wasn't in his sincere intention to cause damage to any of us, and that he deserved a second chance at redemption just as anyone else does." Orion spoke in that wise advisor intonation of his.

"You can't seriously believe he will change his mind once he regained consciousness and disband his army of these so-called 'Decepticons', can you?" Ratchet raised his volume, vocalizer aghast and doubting.

"I hope for the best just as you do, but I am also prepared for the worst. In the aggressive state that they were, they would be more than ready to level Iacon, and you and I know more than anyone how improbable our chances of truly stopping them are if they were to push onward. The best course of action to take was to exploit a voice of command that they trusted dearly, and it was also the only way to get them to listen; so if we didn't return their leader, they would easily figure out our plot of impersonating Megatron; they needed proof, physical proof, and delivering him back to them intact was the best option we got." Orion explained, his rationalization struck some common sense into Ratchet and stilled him for a moment. He wasn't satisfied, but as least calm enough to listen to what Orion had got to say next.

"I have no doubt that when Megatron awakes, he would lead the entire army to attack us with renewed vigor, though we still have more time to prepare ourselves thanks to your concoction. How long would he be out of commission, had you estimated?"

"Roughly two decacycles."

"Excellent. In the meantime, we must warn the population of Cybertron to be prepared, and in order to accomplish such a global task the ceremony is a compulsory sacrifice that I have to take."

"Orion…

When the battle died out and the final of the Decepticons had left the city, the Council rushed out of their hiding corner to exalte the Autobots as their saviour – eventhough they themselves pretty much considered each other arch nemesis just a few orbitual cycles earlier – and honour Orion as the next Prime, so as to make him the active guardian against the Decepticons, bound by the lifetime obligations of a Prime to protect them as his mecha. It was repulsive, to know it on one servo, but to observe first-handedly how deceiving, opportunistic and despicable the Councilmecha really was, was an entire different matter. Nonetheless, Orion had no other choice, but to play by their rules and accept their biased terms to sign his own slavery contract if he were to send out a planetary warning with enough authoritative weight. Binding his own existence to the forfend of the Decepticons and giving up on any personal joy was a costly sacrifice to make, but after joors of brooding over the full seriousness of the situation Orion had finally made peace with himself. Besides, if there was any way he could reach through to Megatron, then the sacred power of the Matrix of Leadership would be his best shot.

"Oh, and regarding your medical expertise, may I ask you something on the matter, hypothetically?"

Intrigued by Orion's tentativeness, Ratchet motioned for him to continue, while making the both of them comfortable on the ground by retrieving 2 cubes of refined High-grade from the dispenser conveniently positioned within his servo's reach, thankful for whatever reason there was for them to be there, and cleared some space for Orion to join him on the ground.

"Is there any chance that a mech… really isn't himself, but rather someone else? Like… they lost control over their frame and another identity filled the spot? Is that even possible?" Orion looked into his optics, his own radiated with hope and faith, so fragile that Ratchet was afraid even the slightest cruelty would shatter them in an instance, forcing him to tread caredully around the problem rather than a blunt, straightforward attempt like his normal behaviour.

"Well… hypothetically, then yes, that is plausible, be it a matter of code programming, psychology, or mentally speaking, it is indeed possible for a Cybertronian to possess more than one personality, each refering to themselves as different identities co-habiting a single frame. Most of the time, the extra personalities are created after a trauma experience, and is a natural method of coping that several mecha develop when their original personality fails to overcome the hardship, and can be either a permanent setting, or a temporary attribute depending on each individual's mental state."

"Oh, okay. Not really what I was asking for, but close enough." Orion looked flustered, overwhelmed with new knowledge that extended beyond his archivation education. If his furrowed brows were of any indication, then the information wasn't any help to his personal affair. "Care to elaborate further on what the hypothetical problem here is?" Ratchet offered, his tone matching the impatient one normally used for stubborn patients that said "either spill or take another flurry of wrenches in the helm", leaving no space for question.

"Well, okay… Say, if a certain mech in a sparklink was suddenly removed from their bondmate, would the trauma from such a separation be dramatic enough for the core programming to activate the protocol of generating a new identity?"

"Well, the separation of a sparklink is always more powerful than any physical contraction, that is certain. In some situation, it is enough that the spark pull from the vacant side of the bond is capable of deactivating the other mech as well, if the prior was deactivated due to any circumstance. In fact, it has always been considered one of the strongest connections that Cybertronians can share with one another, even rivalling the Seekers' trine bond and combiners' gestalt bond altogether. So, yes, I would say the residual emotion, depending on the depth of the connection the two shared before the bond is snapped, if strong enough, is capable of producing an extra set of identity."

"And… does the extra personailty retain any of the original's memory? Or emotion? Or behaviour as well, for that matter?"

"Yes. Basically, they all share the same memory log, emotion replication center, or task execution cortex. They would be exactly identical from that point backwards, but from the very moment onwards they each would possess and display different characteristics that is distinctive to each identity as it is distinctive to each Cybertronian. They would take turn operating the frame independently, and while the frame is under the control of a specific personality, that entity will file memory logs of the occurrences that take place within its operative shift, while the others won't. The memory files will still be logged in the same cache as the rest, but just recorded and encoded differently, and though extra effort is required along with certain stimulations, a reminder perhaps; they can still access them if they so wish to."

"Makes sense… how about the dorminant status of these identities? When would one be dormant and the others not? What factors contribute to decide who is in control? Can another fight back to overide? Is it possible for two or more to be actively conscious at a specific given time? And whose command would the frame respond to, if feasible?" Orion pampered his with a flux of questions so fast he had trouble keeping up to the unsettled mech.

"Oh, for the love of Primus, please slow down, would you? Like I said before, certain stimulations, for example a specific smell or a distinctive sound, basically whatever is deeply attached to the trauma, emotionally or physically evocative of memories relating to the ordeal can trigger the switch of identities. The nature of this phenomenon is that while a certain consciousness remain… well, conscious, for lack of a better word, usually it would occupy most of the processing space, not allowing enough mental area for the other to co-exist at the same time, so the rest go dormant. However, if the processing capacity of a mech is powerful enough to accomodate 2 identity matrices at the same time, or if one of the two has yet to form completely and is somehow compact enough, then 2 can share a frame at the same time. About responding to the processor's command, that is a usual misconception that most mecha still believe in; different than most sentient lifeforms in the universe, our frames operate on its own, but strike to satisfy our processors in the process; in certain situation, the frame isolates the processor from the rest to tend to the vital functions; those occurrences, though rare, are hardly unheard of, such as when starved, you go berserker and savage other creatures for fuel when you are stranded in a tropical forest, but you can hardly retain any memory of it later after the haze has past, because your memory log was simply offline along with the rest of your processor in the process. The frame would still take necessary actions that it supposes is approppriate regardless of the dormant personality, and the only effect that entity would have is that the frame would try to satisfy its yearning. In the case scenario when 2 separate consciousnesses is reigning over the same frame, depending on which specific cortex center each covers, would the frame's responsive behaviour be affected; for instance if one likes rust stick whose coding overides the olfactory sensors of the frame, while another enjoys the fuzzy after effect of High-grade when it is controlling the fuel tanks, then the frame would dip a rust stick in a High-grade cube before giving it a bite, despite how gross that combination would be." Ratchet finished his illustration with a dry gag for extra measure, which Orion couldn't help but laugh a bit at.

"So, according to what you've said, it is possible for us to actively awake a dormant personality with certain stimulations that are deeply attached to them." Orion concluded, still looking a bit lost in his thought. Narrowing his optics, Ratchet gave Orion a stern gaze before coming to a conclusion of his own.

"I suppose, unless for some random reason you develop a fondness for multiple personality disorder, I must assume this 'hypothetical' matter stemmed from a certain misguided friend of ours, one that you shared a common bond link with?" Even without mentioning his direct designation, Orion wasn't a fool, and he knew Ratchet wasn't neither; the need for denial had long expired somewhere between their conversation, and they both knew who the mech in question was.

Orion's silence had all but answered the million-dollar question in itself.

"Orion! Granted that his behaviour was strange, to lead an army to attack Iacon, you seriously aren't contemplating the idea that he was somehow impared mentally, are you?" Ratchet's voice in itself spoke volume of his own disbelief by reaching an entire octave higher than his normal conversative tone.

"Think about it, Ratchet. It all made sense. After he exploded in the caves, the conspicuous army – which we later came to the conclusion, after joors without fruition of investigation and intel gathering, that wasn't official government secret service of any sort – gathered every single fragments of his frame, down to the last bolt and nut, before making their leave, without barely touching a single digit on the rest of us Autobots. It was almost as if they were under specific instructions to retrieve Megatron only, and if whoever it was behind that operation really was so interested in him, it wouldn't be so much a surprise if they managed to reassemble him and reactivate his spark somehow." Upon seeing the telltale signs of concentration on Ratchet's faceplate, Orion knew he was convinced. "The multiple personality disorder could explain that short emotional outburst he had when I mentioned our bonding recitation, something that qualified both as deepy attached and emotionally connected to the original Megatron that we knew, and he clearly showed signs of a struggle when his alter-ego was rescinding control over his frame, as is evidential by his consistent shivering and imperceptible vocalization of a certain message, maybe even of his abductors themselves." Orion was now glowing with a faint slither of hope freshly ignited within him, and without verbalizing it, he knew Ratchet was feeling the same.

"Even so, how can you be so sure it wasn't all a plot to rile you up from the beginning? To lure you to get close so that he could make his move, which I am inclined to remind you, succeeded exceptionally?" Ratchet was still doubtful, and if there was ever a chance Orion could get his partner back, that doubt must be annihilated.

"If it was just an act altogether, why bother, when he and us both knew he could have just walked right through and trampled us underneath his entire army? How could he even be alive, after we saw with our very own optics his explosive deactivation, without the interference of someone resourceful enough to rival the rules of nature themselves? Why bother waiting for so long before attacking Iacon if he was still alive after the explosion?" Orion assaulted feverishly without mercy, leaving Ratchet without enough time to process the amount of new input, having trouble to just barely keep up.

"His deactivation back in the cavern was certain, so was the snap of our sparkbond; I could feel that much before being knocked out completely by the throwback. The reason why I hadn't felt it being onlined again until Megatron had already been at the outskirt of the city can be simply explained with the physical distance between us; after our old headquarter in Iacon was compromised, we went underground, hiding in the abandoned mining complex where Megatron used to work at, filled with contagious radiation; what proof do we have to say for certain that none of that affects the spark bond one way or another, dulling it to the point beyond perceptible?" Once again, Orion stole any possible response from Ratchet's modulator and left the mech, quite literally, speechless. But it wasn't enough, not close; in order to get Ratchet to agree with his point of view, the mech needed to be thoroughly persuaded, on a much more personal level.

Orion leaned closer to his friend, placing both servos on Ratchet's shoulder joints as he spoke in an sincere tone. "I understand this is a lot to take in, and to even contemplate believing blindly in this theory when we don't even have enough convincing evidence is too much to ask from anyone, but you are far from anyone. You are a friend, a family to both of us; you have helped us since the dawning age of the Autobots, and without your assistance we could never have made it so far. What I ask of you now is a leap of faith, a risk if you will, but one worth taking. Even if there is a slightest fickle of chance that Megatron – our real Megatron – was buried deep somewhere beneath that sparkless monster, we have an obligation to find and save him, as fellow Autobots, as his friends, his family. We owe it to him that least, after the sacrifice he made to make sure we both got out alive."

After the explosion rocked the chamber and endangered them all to a risk of the tunnel collapsing and burying them all alive, a badly-injured Ratchet was forced to haul an unconscious Orion onto one of the miners whose alt-mode was a heavy transportation vehicle, before climbing on it himself. Giving brief orders to retreat to a nearby soldier before passing out entirely, the next time he woke up his wound was being tended to by Orion, and the entire Autobot faction – or at least what was left of them – had been safely hidden under layers of dirt and metal altogether, nestled deep within the abandoned mining complex, courtesy of their transport's former occupation. They were making a wild gamble to even dared venturing back to that place, though fortunately the radiation contagion had been dilluted barely enough for their mechanical internals to survive a direct exposure to. It wasn't until much later that they sent a scout back to the underground base to retrieve the video footage of that eventful cycle, and through the means of which had they, to their utter horror, discovered the shocking revelation of the mysterious Councilmech's nature. Ratchet himself had checked over and over again the tape countless times to ensure that there were no signs of tampering, and yet no mech from the entire Autobot faction could have believed in what they had seen with their very own optics.

In front of the surveilance footage, the Councilmech was dismembered in pieces after the explosion, his helm even thrown several mechano metres away from his frame to land at the camera's foot as if to give the Autobots the most vibrant display that indeed, what they were watching wasn't a trick that their optics were playing on them. A few klicks later, after the smoke had cleared out some bit, the fractured remains of the Councilmech, distinctively extinguishing with other random mecha by his vibrant colouring, began trembling on the ground without any outside's influence. Then, piece by piece, they flocked together, each fragments snapping into place where they were designed to be, in less than 3 klicks had restored itself into the complete helmless form of the mech, fully intact as if freshly off the assembly line. The figure slowly walked towards the camera as if to give the Autobots a clearer definition of such montrosity they were observing first-handedly, before bending down to pick up his helm and reattaching it into its socket smoothly, the reconnection seamlessly accomplished. Throughout the entire process of regenerating, his optics flashed brightly with a magenta hue that still haunted every Autobot soldier up until this cycle.

They observed the mech came back to life, pieces to pieces, until he was wholly integral.

Then the mech walked around casually to pick up severed parts of Megatron while making gestures a normal mech would have when establishing radio contact with another mech. Finish collecting the full carcass of Megatron, the mech subspaced his weighty load and walked out of the chamber innocuously, leaving his fallen comrades without a single second thought.

His eery resemblance to a sparkless monster frightened Ratchet of how similar he was to the Senator Shockwave, and with the knowledge of Orion's close relationship to the later, he deliberately took the liberty of destroying the footage before it could ever reach Orion's optics. He made a deal with the rest of the Autobots, to never mention the matter directly to Orion, and frankly none of them were opposed to the idea of pretending not to have ever seen the footage before. They were shook, and honestly he couldn't say he didn't feel the same.

So when Orion brought up the topic of bringing someone back from the brink of deactivation back to life, he got Ratchet hooked right then and there. Even without the knowledge about such montrosity had Orion been so thoroughly convinced, Ratchet knew for certain if he had even been slightly informed of even the slightest detail about that cycle, he wouldn't hesitate to march the entire Autobot army into outer space if that was what it took for them to reacquire Megatron.

Steeling his firm resolution, Ratchet decided to never allow Orion that specific piece of information, ever. Later in the Great War, it became one of the deepest secrets he had ever had to enclose from Orion's grasp, but there was no other way around.

"What was it that Megatron was trying to tell you?"


	31. Chapter 4 - Part 19

PART 19  
#Coronation

The hallway was thoroughly illuminated, variants of lights in multiple shapes and sizes were brightly radiating with a glorious lit, multi-coloured lighting blended in with one another to create the majestic ambience of luxury incarnation; whether it be for a display of ostentation or not Orion couldn't tell. From the tall, dome-like ceiling above to the grand floor below, every available surface was either covered in lush velvet carpet or extravagant gold ornaments, almost as if the lack of excessive swank would cause distress and uncomfort to its own flaunty regulators. From the beginning to the long end of the corrider at the opposite side, not a single inch was left ungarmented, and the entire pathway seemed too luxurious to even dare walking on it, Orion couldn't help but feel like an intrusive outsider to even bother treading on such lavish surroundings, despite the fact he had given himself the most perfect paint job of his entire lifetime. Around him, however, the servants didn't seem to share his line of thought, for they kept following him in an even pace, faceplate calm and collected demeanor as if carrying out a dull daily routine over and over far past the point of habituation – that was probably true too, now that Orion finally gave it another consideration.

As if on cue, the moment their crew neared the grand double doors at the end, it swished opened automatically to reveal a large ball room, an entire palace even. It was lavished with silver and golden intricates all over, every single corner polished to a shiny glow. There were countless mecha gathering all around in a resemblance of an amphitheater, each seat occupied with a commensurate high-ranking Councilmech. They seemed to differentiate one another's status and peer through the amount of ornaments one could fit on their frame, the ones closest to the podium bearing the most generous quantity of jewelry Orion had been surprised to learn was even possible. Further at the back, he spotted several of his own mecha, the loyal proponents of Autobots, waving to him in an exuberant manner, proud to witness Orion's accomplishment. He wished he could have shared the same sentiments with his fellow teammates; returning the gesture while being escorted to the most formal ceremony to have transpired for the last eon didn't exactly qualify as appropriate. He could never be proud of something the Council deliberately grant him, the potential drawback was just far too unaccountable.

It wasn't as if Orion hadn't throroughly weighed his options; he could have just as easily bailed out of this coronation before it has even started, the ridiculous amount of time spent waiting for the last twenty joors or so was more than enough evidence to believe that there would still be even more ahead, allowing him enough time to actually come up with a probable plan of how to get away unnoticed. But then again, there would still be the Decepticons crisis; it wasn't like it would magically solve itself if he somehow decided not to sacrifice his freedom for the sake of entire Cybertron, or that his lover would be aroused from his deep slumber and return by his side like some childish fairytale or berthtime lullaby; life hadn't always been fair to him before, and just as he was about to begin to grasp at its true meaning, things went tumbling downhill worse than what was supposedly possible. Yet, he knew it in his processor that this was the only way out, and frankly, he didn't even understand why all the fight had dissipated ruefully to leave behind a calm acceptance of his faith; something was rubbing at his core programming, itching for a trigger to express itself, but the stillness before the storm is even more frightening with how peaceful he felt at spark.

So Orion had no other choice but to keep on walking along the isle, a tight crowd of servants following him around but more a hindrance than an actual escort, their own formal paintjobs gleamed brightly as the spotlight was reflected off well-polished platings. Their movement, though slow and lethargic, was strangely graceful and elegant in a way only either a lifetime of pampered luxury or a well-practiced routine could have pulled off so smoothly; Orion suspected the later, from the dull, emotionless expression etched deep on their faceplate. It reminded Orion of a pain of his own, something he had shoved so deep underneath layers of duty and obligations to actually be bothersome, until then.

" _He said something, if my memory serves right, an unintelligible sound, but from the shape of his vent my best guess would be a designation."_

Ratchet had inspired so much in him. He helped him through their times of hardship, kept the Autobots steady on their peds and rally the troop when Orion couldn't even find the strength to stand. He healed him back to full health even with half his frame slagged to the pit and back. Somehow, the mech found a way to filter the Energon harvested directly from the mine, cutting them from the slack of rummaging through dumps and garbage to obtain hard-earned droplets of low-quality Energon like before, and especially with their numbers wax and wane from the latest ordeal, it was more than enough to keep the antsy miners sated and fed. Even without a goal to follow, somehow the mech had miraculously inspired everyone to keep faith in their cause, in a freedom that just seemed so improbable and bleakly desperate at times. It was how Ratchet had so smoothly, imperceptively transitioned himself into the role of leadership in the absence of his co-leader that got him seriously reweighing the mech's worth. Clearly, medical and maintenance duty suited him just fine, but a huge proportion of his value would be wasted if the mech spent his entire life contentedly working in that compact medbay while his outstanding leadership abilities were dormantly put to rest. It had Orion truly value his friend for the first of the many granted times before, and Orion realized startlingly with a jolt how prejudiced he was with anyone not his lover; with all his profound contribution to the cause, he deserved as much of the truth as Megatron himself. After all, he was the only qualified and active CMO their entire militia was in possession of. One with a passionate devotion in saving lives and an unquestionable expertise to accompany, if he might add himself.

" _A designation? You sure that was what he had said? It could very well be that it was just a sputter of his malfunctioning vocalizer-_

" _It was definitely a designation, the sound emerging somewhat garbled and unclear, but I could still make out the gist of it. It sounded something like ;s-o-k', or any similar deriviation of the sound."_

The scrutiny he received from the spectating mecha seemed capable of inclining a mech of such authority like himself to shrink under their watchful gaze, readied to pick out any slightest flaw he made and dissect him open right away with it. Their optics trailed after his movement bit by bit, never relinquishing their optical hold on his frame, forcing him to move a bit closer to the indifferent servants in front, who seemed to pay no attention to their surroundings whatsoever as they kept marching dutifully towards the dais at the far end of the ball room. Their small parade was modest in number and size, yet overtly extravagant in the pride that they carried themselves with. It was almost as if the upcoming event had already began enhancing his status even before it officially began, putting him at the top of the social hierarchy.

Orion didn't exactly appreciate that at all. Not one bit. While he had always valued the finer things in life, such luxurious style of living he had not been well accustomed to, nor did he find in it any appealingness. He just didn't come online programmed with a ludicrous personality chip, and the laborous lifestyle of a typical dock worker did nothing to encourage it either. As unnerved and unsettled as the mech was, he still pressed forward confidently, concealing every bit the tiniest hint that would give away his mental insecurity, unwilling to display weakness in front of so many predatory Noblemecha.

" _You certain of this? With the current state that the Autobots are running on, it would be devastating if we spent our valuable resources without yielding any result."_

" _I am willing to bet on it with my entire life. I have always trusted my instincts, they have never failed me before, and I have faith they won't this time."_

Throughout his entire long life, an unknown fact from even the most intimacy of mecha, ever since the cycle his memory capacitors were fully formed, not once had he recalled a moment in life had he not carried a bleeding spark for others, and as his first-ever caregiver Yoketron had said, his compassion and sympathy can very well be used as a weapon against himself just for the full intensity of them. And Orion knew if there even was a slightest chance to save his fallen partner and salvage the planet before it plunged entirely down the darkest path of history, he would not hesitate to sacrifice everything to achieve that tiny fickle of hope, whether it be his cherished friends, beloved families, or noble cause.

He hadn't chosen the field of History Archivation out of a sense of personal satisfaction or occupational wise. Being sheltered and pampered away from the harsh, cruel reality of the brutal brunt of the Quintesson war, Orion emerged shortly after the entire planet of Cybertron had been reduced down to rumbles. He had witnessed first-handedly such montrosity that a full-blown volatile warfare was capable of inducing on such a harmless, innocent planet full of civilians. He had observed fallen, greyed out carcass of mecha and femmes alike, remains damaged beyond identification; had seen wanton destruction with each fallen city state and toppled kingdom, spilt Energon and scrap metals littering the once pristine streets and highways while smoke condensated in toxic clouds covered each every last glimmer of light emitted from the dual suns of Cybertron, replacing the refreshing natural atmosphere of the planet with a filthy poisonous shroom enclosing the metallic orb in perpetual darkness. It was a haunting experience, one branded deep into his processor and seared permanently into a tendril of his aching spark as it yearned out with painful sympathy for each demise of one of his own while he was still indulging in blessed ignorance, safely tucked away in a remote hideout and contented with his deceiving illusion of harmony. If anyone were to blame, it couldn't have been the old wise advisor; he was just too dedicated to the safety of an underaged, uneducated sparkling, answering to the higher calling of his own maternal instinct; a victim of Orion's own untimely appearance. So the blame had to be on him; his mysterious origin, as well as questionable background altogether; Primus forbid that a sparkling be abandoned in an anonymous back alley without any parental figure to look up at. He knew his own story was shady, and there were still too many blanks to be filled in: who were his sire and carrier? Why did they deny the holy duty of taking care of and upbringing a sparkling to its full potential and leave it without a second care? Why did it have to be the valuable second-in-command that stumbled across on that exact same cycle, right before the historical transaction went down in Cybertron and Quintesson's long, spotless record of beneficial co-operation? Why did the coincidential string of unfortunate events at first glance seemed so much alike a cosmic alignment specifically destined to occur alongside his involvement? Too many questions, with so few probable answers. And ignorance had once contributed to the role of devastating his home planet, his true kin, his own kind. He was done with being left out of the loop, and so agreed his spark as they both condemned the rest of their existence to correct what had been wronged.

Perhaps attempting to blend in with the next generation of society wasn't the best concept he could have come up with. Every single ordeal occuring during his stay at the Iacon Academy under the disguise of a student was more than evidential enough that the turbofoxes were never meant to be inside a petrorabbit's cave. Yet, back there was where he had learnt the most valuable lesson of his life, more so than any history data he had ever collected on his grand search for knowledge; it was of bonding and friendship. He had learnt, for the first time, and understood finally, what it was like to have a friend, a true companion he could rely on, could actually _be_ himself in front of. Though he could never gather the courage to admit it to Shockwave, the mech had always sniffed out something was off about him, yet he respected Orion enough to never voice his suspicion out loud. Likewise, Orion could feel the importance radiating off the mech in waves, they both knew the scientist-to-be was more than merely an ordinary mech like everyone else. They were both comfortable with such secrets, and for the first time ever Orion actually _felt_ safe to just be with the mech. Unfortunately, he was robbed of the chance to truly value his friend, the mech being taken away so abruptly, so suddenly that Orion never got a chance to verbalize their goodbyes. First by the abduction, then from the hastiness of the trial of the Senator, afterwards from the hectic campaign-running for the Council seat. And finally, for good, by that…

Orion instaneously paused in his steps at the recollection of the tragic off-cycle when it all went downhill. The entire escort continued with their pace, unfazed and totally unaffected by his delay, the mech had to quicken his peds to catch up with. The rest of the spectators seemed not to notice his falter, so Orion steeled his horror faceplate back to the grim blank that adorned his expression hopefully without a witness.

It was highly unusual. Provided that he didn't think of that specific off-cycle too much in favor of traumatic memories, it was understandable if the details seemed blurry or obscure even to the systematical recording logs of a Cybertronian processor; it wouldn't have raised so much suspicion. However, in the specific mentioning, the events of said off-cycle transpired perfectly clear inside his logs from the entire drive on the express highway up to the point when he arrived at his destination, then followed by a complete blank for a few klicks, before righting itself again and projecting the mental image of a mangled corpse of his best friend, lying motionless on the ground, processor impaled with a shard of purple metal. As if _something_ had blocked him from remembering that particular period of time; fundamentally deducible something of essence must have taken place in between the blank, content as of yet unknown. Orion was determined to cancel that negativity.

"Psst! Move! You're in my way!" A servant whispered to his audio receptor from behind.

It wasn't until the intrusion of privacy space that Orion realized his even steps had been reduced to a stall, before he had completely froze on his tracks obliviously. He wasn't so fortunate this time; the delay in movement was considerably more flamboyant than the sputter of an optical ridge, and as such mecha from all around had begun to focus their unwavering stares at him, half-expecting him to suddenly turn tails and flee from the ceremony, the other half expecting him to fritz out and malfunction right where he was standing from fear and intimidation. Orion was stunned; too much attention was given to the unprepared soon-to-be Prime, and the thought storming over his processor in an unrelenting wave currently was overwhelming enough for an emotionally dishevelled Orion. He could feel the tension coiling in each of his hydraulic pumps, freezing joints at positions of discomfort and producing the urge to scratch awkwardly to be rid of the unpleasant sensation. Such an activity in the midst of scrutiny optics wasn't appropriate behaviour, or even remotely logical behaviour for that matter, and Orion found himself standing at a standstill, processor blank, unaware of what to do next, a bubble of rising anxiety conquering the forefront of his processor as nanoklicks sped by as painstakingly slow as vorns.

"My apologies." A mech stood up from the top row of Councilmecha, the authority in which he carried himswelf with radiated with wisdom and experience. His faceplate was naturally calm and posture composed as he spoke up as he addressed Orion personally, loud enough for the entire auditorium to hear. "I must have mistaken the radio frequency of one of my assistances with yours. By all means, the message to clean my waste deposits are not intended to reach your inbox, my greatest apologies. Please, do proceed as uninterrupted."

Without checking, Orion knew his inbox was empty. This mech, whoever he was and whatever motive he had of offering Orion a way out, he would have to be extra mindful later on. For now, he wouldn't reject the opportunity. He quickly picked up pace again, the watching crowd half slumped in disappointment of a lack of drama, some straightened up and reacquired their stringent gaze on Orion like a predator trailing after its prey. In response, Orion also straightened his backstrut tighter as if to match their expectations, sincerely not looking forward to another complication soon.

Filing a mental note to notice Ratchet of the memory loss malfunction at a later date, his thought process mulled back to safer territory, and the image of Megatron popped up inside his helm like a beacon of light. Megatron was also like Shockwave; he was one of the few that had managed to gain Orion's trust. For so long had he thought he would never be capable of finding a mech who connects to him deeply under so many levels, and yet again the universal cosmic alignment had proven him incorrect. There wasn't anything more to it than the fact the mech was his sparkmate, and the moment they met in that holding cell, something… inextricably had drawn the both of them closer to one another. The propulsion had seemed physically appealing at first, but soon enough he realized it ran much deeper than the outside embodiment. It was as soulful as a spark could be, and Orion knew his spark yearned to touch Megatron's own as much as he desired for the mech. Eventually, they bonded, and the urgent impulse that resided within his spark for numerous cycles since their initial meeting was instantly gone, either satiated or thoroughly dissipated, replaced by an empty absence. Of something very important to himself was the limit that he could infer to be certain from the matter, without including qualities of a conjectural doubt to jump to any conclusions. Time, much time apart had given Orion a clearer perspective than the blinded lover that he was before, and from this new light their bond had strangely felt like a predestined course that between the two, none had the option to decline. He knew that whatever bonded Megatron and himself was more than just merely a close relationship, and eventhough he had never denied that it was, had been, and always would be genuinely spoken from his deepest conscience, Orion just couldn't shrug off the unsettling attribute to their joining that somehow, it wasn't purely directed by love, but rather a higher force at play.

The thought in itself proved scary enough, for Orion was nearly about to trip over the first set of the escalating dais before he remembered to return his mind back to his physical frame. Lost within his own thoughts, he had subconsciously travelled the generous length of the entire ball room, and had now reached the destination of the sacred coronation. Step by step, his fate was drawing closer to a barrier, one Orion knew better than anyone that would be no way out of aside from the actual distinguishment of the spark itself. Steeling himself, Orion stepped forward on his own, the surrounding escort splitting in two opposing direction to move around the dais, each occupying a different level of step. Suddenly, the path straightforward seemed so intimidating and dire without the crowding cavalry, Orion briefly wondered if their actual role was to help ease one's anxiety upon approaching such a paramount event, and surprisingly found that either way, it _was_ for him, and he quite missed their stoic presence. Step by heavier step, the mech made his way to the top of the dais where a large throne chair was positioned, and before it laid two intricate cantilever inscribed with an ancient Cybertronian language that predated his own lengthy knowledge both acquired from curriculum and from experience. All covered in a layer of vermeil, they shone brightly as if to attract any wandering optics, but despite the lavish imbued, they were no match for the very relic they carried. The two cantilevers served as a horizontal base for an ancient relic to rest upon. Not just any, but the one and only Matrix of Leadership.

As a History-major student of the prized Iacon Academy, the object of his observance wasn't as alien as it would be to any other mech. It was the most treasured asset of any Prime, unique and unrivaled by any mortal instrument that could be manufactured by mechkind; the actual prodigy of Primus himself, present in the shape of a specialized compartment to contain millenias of knowledge and wisdom accumulated by predecessor Primes under the form of pure spark energy, rumoured to be extracted from Primus' himself. It was so precious that after each passing of a Prime, the frame of the unfortunate bearer would be thoroughly dissected and dismembered so as to make sure the removal of the Matrix from the frame obtain as least damage as possible, hence its perfect condition despite countless preceding hosts before. As of current, the relic was unactivated, its form compact and tightened around the center to protect the orb inside. At the center laid a circular crevice, through which it emitted a cool, glowing blue hue, and somehow its powerful, archaic aura drew Orion closer, pushing away all his fear and insecurities, as the floating orb inside vibrated at the same frequency with his spark, the former every bit as welcoming as the very open servos of Primus himself was. For a moment, Orion could have just easily forgotten all his concerns and just embrace the limitless capacity the relic would offer, his spark had already been fluttering in excitement at the prospect of bearing such a treasure, its unsteady pulse propulsing his engine to heat up, fuel tanks churning as his latest meal was digested thrice as fast as the normal energy conversion rate.

Before Orion could reach out and make physical contact with the relic, however, a quick flash of fear, hatred and despise ran across his spark in faint waves before disappearing completely as quickly as how they had appeared. It put him in a moment of confusion, conflicting emotions struggling for dominance in his spark while his processor remained completely calm, including the emotional cortex itself. It was a strange feeling, yet eerily familiar, as if he had had an encounter with this… opposing entity before, eventhough it was still very foreign and peculiar to his rational consciousness. The compartment of his own spark chamber felt confined and abnormally restricting eventhough its size never changed an inch for the whole duration of the experience, and Orion could swear he almost _felt_ another consciousness brushed with the edge of his own.

Just as sudden as the feeling had approached, the memories of the off-cycle rushed back to him in a jolt, plunging him into a sea of darkness as the blurring image of the Matrix was the last thing his sensor net relayed while his frame fell lifelessly backwards, tumbling all the way down the serie of stairs and collide with the ground in a deafening crack. His optics went dark, and soon followed his entire frame's function as the mech's internal system was shut down one component after another, leaving his spark the only responsive signal left to indicate his activation.

The only abnormality was that, when Ratchet had finally made his way through congregated layers of curious Noblemecha and shoved a few amateur medical assistances behind to get to work with a few choice curse words muttered not-so-very-subtlely, his handheld scanner read an extra signal than the prerequisite for a mech's survival. And to top off the list, the two signals shared similar frequency, the only distinguishable feature being Ratchet's orbital-cycles old of medical expertise of looking at Orion's spark enough times to point out the slightest swerving attribute to its orbit.

Slamming the sparkchamber's cover close with more force than necessary – or, more likely, advisable – especially in treatment of such delicate circuitry, Ratchet stood up to his full impressive height, arching his backstrut to a few pops and squeaks, before he pulled out the biggest wrench Cybertron had ever seen and struck a pose, the instrument raised well high above his helm and aimed directly at Orion's unconscious helm. "Slag it. As if the cycle could have gotten any worse. FOR THE LOVE OF PRIMUS, WHAT THE FRAG HAVE I DONE WRONG TO DESERVE THIS?"

* * *

 _ **Peace. Serenity. Silence. Unison.**_

A resonating bang awakened him from his slumber. Surprised to actually feel a painful sensation inflicted on his forehelm above all the numbness of empty vacancy, he moved his servo on reflex to inspect the cause of the pain, but was surprised when he couldn't feel his helm anywhere. Or even his servo, for that matter.

" _You're awake."_

A voice floated to him, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It voiced distaste in its opinion, apparently none too impervious to the physical effect on the host frame. He didn't understand how that was possible; he was just aware that both him and the entity shared a physical root, and that understanding ran much deeper than simply mental cognizance.

"Who – what are you?"

" _That ran further beyond the comprehension capacity of your mortal processor. Let me just simplicate it: I_ _ **am**_ _you."_

The revelation wasn't as shocking as he had thought it would be, partly because a part of him had always known. This wasn't just an intruder's presence, it was _his_ presence as well. Just like the intruder _feels_ every single one of his, so does he every one of him.

"Why do you…?"

It wasn't even a coherent question, but between the two of them, there was no need to express anything verbally. They understood each other, what each had got to say before the thought had left one's vocalizer, and knew the answer the instant they asked. For conversational's sake, the mech played along, even if just to toy with him a little longer; the voice suggested that it was taking personal pleasure out of this.

" _Well, isn't that curious? Why does the world function that way? Why are you even here? Where is here? How did you get here? How did I get here, and what is the purpose behind this talk? Well, you see, you seemed to be an inquisitive mech, so I would leave you to satisfy your own curiosity while you're in here. You're going to forget anyway, why bother? Just think hard enough, you and I_ _ **both**_ _knew the answers."_

Unheeding the former statement, he focused on the later, concentrating his entire being into the knowledge he was seeking, and found them he did. It was totally processor-blowing, and he felt his entire being wavered slightly with the shock of the revelation.

" **No.** " Without even thinking about it, a denial formed in the forefront of his thought process, deafening and overiding any other emotion that was waging war on his processor. The other was chuckling good-humouredly at his initial response, despite himself finding no amusement whatsoever in this particular piece of knowledge, he could practically feel the comicality rolling off in waves from his alter-ego.

" _Hilarious. The last time you were in here, you said the exact same thing."_

At the mention, the memory from their previous encounter flowed freely within his consciousness, the previous mental block removed, unrestricting the natural flow of recollection and he watched it observatively like an audience, witnessed everything happening once again in his own frame, never able to relinquish his hold of control over the physical embodiment.

" _Cease your futile attempt. What you see is merely a reflection of a past that has already happened, and even to my –_ _ **ours**_ _– great power, bending time or space is simply unfeasible."_ The other sighed, voice chastising him like a misbehaved sparkling receiving his punishment. To his own surprise, however, he actually felt the remorse originated from the semblance of the exvented huff of imaginary air.

"You…" Actions couldn't be described with mere words, and so he let the mess of swirling thoughts and emotions to pass the full extent of his accusation towards the other, who proudly accepted without an ounce of regret.

" _Yes. It was me all along. But do not forget, what was my bidding, was no less_ _ **yours**_ _as well."_

Even with their mutual thought process, he was thoroughly confused by now. The other let out an exaggerated noncommital grunt before replying verbally, compelled by the urge to elaborate from his alter-ego.

" _We are but two representatives, two separate aspects of a single being, components of a united entity. We may give separate decisions, but in all essence, any decision made must be approved of by the both of us, and that includes you as well."_

Once again, the truth he had already known being repeated by the other got him speechless, unable to conceive any reply.

"I… did all that?"

" _Oh, for the love of Unicron, enough with all that guilt tripping yourself! I am so sick of being drowned in your pit of self pity, so do yourself a favour and get over it, before I am forced to_ _ **make**_ _you."_

He wasn't really paying attention to what the other was saying anymore, so deeply lost in shock and horror of himself.

" _It isn't unnatural for a mech to yearn for power and dominance, and sparking conflicts is the only way we can achieve it. We do what we must to gain power, such is natural behaviour for the superior race to belittle their inferior counterpart. You really are nothing but a shadow of our former glory; a disgrace for our true form to even begin with, weakling!"_ The other sneered at him, but rather than evoking another fresh surge of emotional breakdown, it managed to call upon a fresh wave of a different emotion.

 **Anger.**

"I would never do that to my friend, **liar!** You completely **ruined** him!" He spoke out loud, enraged at the unjust of Shockwave's tragedy.

" _Always the shallow surface. Remember, we_ _ **both**_ _understood it was our fault that Shockwave was lost to Ratbat in the first place, and it never went beyond the benefit of a doubt to either of us that indeed, Shockwave_ _ **was**_ _reprogrammed during his brief stay in that fortress. The damage had already been done since then, and because of out apathy, we weren't there when it manifested; when he_ _ **needed**_ _us most. He had already_ _ **suffered**_ _enough, and the damage done to his processor was irreversible; he had long been gone_ _when we arrived untimely, and without that shard of Dark Energon, he wouldn't even_ _ **have**_ _a spark to be healed by the time we reached the hospital."_ Despite the harsh words, the other explained softly in a tone that replicated his own sympathy, and he knew it to be sincere as he felt it pouring from his own spark.

"Still no right you have over him to decide to just curtail his ability to feel! His emotion!" He spoke back, though the anger had been quenched somewhat with the previous explanation, and from the realization that it was no one else's but his fault why Shockwave was corrupted.

" _Oh really? Would you rather I had stabbed it at his logical circuits? Taking away his ability to think or rationalize even_ _ **one**_ _coherent thought for the rest of his life, letting his emotion cortex suffer from the full extent of the pain of knowing that you could_ _ **never**_ _fullfil your lifetime aspiration of becoming the greatest scientist of Cybertron? Or would you rather me withholding the shard forever and take_ _ **no**_ _action as we witnessed his spark got snuffed out_ _ **in front of**_ _our olfactory sensors without even_ _ **bother**_ _trying, despite being fully able to?"_ He responded in frustration, and he found himself relating deeply to the mech's decision. Perhaps it was true after all that they were one and the same, for he found himself making the same choices had he been in the other's shoe.

"Even so, you've seen how badly corrupted he was after the Dark Energon transfusion. His reign not only terrorized Cybertron, but galvanized relating planets as well!"

" _The Council and Senate had always been corrupted with the Functionists' involvement. A time for revolution would eventually come, we_ _ **both**_ _can_ _see that coming. And I would rather sooner than later, for the sake of easing the civilians' suffering. Through the tyranny of Shockwave, a former comrade, is the last thing I am willing to commit, but the situation was bleak, and a call for extreme measures had arisen. The mecha_ _ **needed**_ _to realize the severity of the corruption, and you cannot deny that an evolution can only be birthed in the heart of conflict; through war and destruction shall the mightiest and strongest arise. You need to stop seeing the war as a bad influence, but rather an overhaul to strive for the better of our kind. We need to be prepared for the next galactic invasion so as not to make the same mistakes out predecessors had, as was evidence with the Quintesson war."_ The voice turned into a convincing rally, which to his own horror he found himself having nothing against.

"But… surely war isn't the only way?"

" _Unfortunately, it is. You remember the excruciation we felt as we observed our beloved planet in ruins? I_ _ **shielded**_ _you from the brunt of it, taking on the whole on my side of the spark, so as to preserve your innocence. In hindsight, I should have seen how weak it would have make you become, but there is_ _ **power**_ _in that naïve cover. Trust me when I say I have existed for far longer than you can comprehend, and known far more than that processor of yours can store with every upgrade installed._ _ **War is the only way.**_ _"_ The other spoke with such genuinity that knocked the response out of his vocalizer. So with a lack of anything better to respond to, he remained silent.

" _I was thinking of taking away your memories of our encounter again prior to your merging with the Matrix, but you may just have proven yourself much more understanding than I had given you credit for. You may keep these information for yourself if you so wish, but remember I can take away the burden of knowledge effortlessly. With the short time that we have left, I suggest you make up your decision quickly."_

"Short time? What do you mean?"

" _You are about to merge with the Matrix to become the Prime, so that you can lead the superior individuals of our race through triumphant of battles to the next stage of evolution. As you may have deduced, my unholy being is highly contradictory to Primus' own, and everything that stemmed from him is poisonous to me. After your transition into being the Prime, I would no longer able to manifest physically to take control of your frame, nor could we share conversation like this without the Matrix draining me bit by bit. I would be forced to go into dormant stasis until the Matrix is either removed – something yet possible with our technological advancement, or destroyed – which will result in the lost of eons of cultural and historical databanks, something unfavourable to the both of us. Presumably, it is very possible that this will be our last encounter in at least a very long while."_

"Wait! Don't go yet! I still have so much left to ask!" As his questioning became frantic, he began to feel his physical embodiment as a faint presense at the back of his mind. His frame had been repaired, and the moment he allowed it, he would be returned to his frame, the other lost forever.

" _Apparently, you don't have much of a choice in the matter."_ The resonating voice of the other waxed and waned as he himself felt his imminent departure closing in, robbing his presence of precious spark energy.

"Where will you go when I am dominant? What happens to your spark when I'm gone? It isn't fair for you to just leave me like this! Or fair to you, neither! **Stay!** " He fought the impulse of his physical frame getting stronger as time passed by, sensor relays peppered with signal everywhere reporting the wellbeing of his frame intact and unaffected by the fall.

" _I'd love to kiddo, but I'd rather not be dissipated, too. I hope we can continue this conversation sometimes, if it is possible."_ The tone now seemed far away, the other weakened critically as his framed regained senses. He could feel the cold, hard ground behind his backstrut and multiple medical machinery plugged into his chest cavity.

"At least answer me this! **Where is Megatron and what happened to him?** " He could now smell the sterilized chemicals of a typical med-bay, along with the incessant chattering of a certain infuriated CMO beside his audio receptors. In response to his chaste, the other only laughed softly.

" _So you really_ _ **do**_ _care about him. Funny thing is, I do too. Perhaps we_ _ **are**_ _more alike than I have anticipated. Don't worry too much about that; Shockwave's tinkering actually surpassed my scheming, but you_ _ **will**_ _get our Megatron back. Follow this signal."_ A soft ping alarmed his inbox about a received radio transmission, startling him of how cognizant to the physical world he had already been.

"Don't you **dare** bail out on me! I will find a way for us to co-exist, and this conversation will **not** be our last, do you hear me!?"

The white nothingness surrounding him had been replaced by static from the offlined optical relays, and the pleasant peacefulness gone as the full weight of his physical frame pulled him back to the world of the living. Inside his spark, a faint murmur was barely audible to the healthy drumming of his own spark, now fully recovered back to full health.

" _I have every hope that if anyone can, it would be you. Now stay safe and don't get yourself slagged for the both of us, would you?"_

* * *

 **"Always."**

A wrench came into contact with his helm hard, leaving a nice, round dent and a corresponding circle of chipped paint where his smooth helmet used to adorn his helm. The mech instantly shot upright in a bolt, optics wide scanning around frantically for the source of impact, before relaxing when they settled on Ratchet, whose servo was still bracing a poised wrench.

"You SLAGGER! Had you any idea how much of a spark attack you gave me?" He bellowed, angry and relieved at the same time. His faceplate etched deep with a scowl infamous for the Autobot CMO, but his poised wrench forced Orion to react carefully if he doesn't wish to earn himself another dent anytime soon.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry medbot. I was kind of… tired there." He finished lamely, deliberately not disclosing the content of his peculiar experience with his alter-ego to anyone who would potentially consider him malfunctioning and unfit to be Prime. The mech turned around and muttered a few unintelligible curse words, before placing his wrench on a nearby tabletop. Orion breathed out a huff of relief at the disposal of the instrument of pain.

Not a fragment of a nanoklick later, an even louder bang rang out the spacious medbay as Ratchet had swiveled around in an impressive display of finesse and maneuverability to pick up the wrench, banged him on the helm – at the same spot, twice for extra measure – and returned it to the tabletop, then fixed Orion with an intimidating glare as he pouted, servos on either sides of the hip. Orion was still groaning from the abuse when Ratchet had already assaulted him with a flurry of questions of his own.

"What the heck was that identical dual spark signature I scanned? Why was yours weaker in intensity, then grew in size while the other shrunk, until you two merged back into your own? Did you feel anything when you were out? Why did you wake up talking in your recharge? What is 'always' supposed to even mean? Do I actually want to know?"

"Erhm… perhaps not now, Ratchet, please. My helm is still ringing from that double blow you had just delivered recently, and I can feel the worst processor ache of my life heading my way, so can you at least grant me some space?" He faked pain in an attempt at procastinating the inevitable, and Ratchet's optics narrowed in suspicion. Orion prayed to Primus he wouldn't question any further.

"Fine." Was all he got in response, before the mech turned away and tended to one of the monitors connected to his chest cavity. A bit taken aback by the uncharacteristic response of the mech, Orion took a moment to himself to sort his thoughts out when he realized his reflection on the metallic surface of the wall next to him revealed a strange mech whom he did not know.

Suddenly, the processor ache, the double indentation that didn't hurt as much as it should, the sudden disconnection with his other, the smooth helmet instead of his flat helm, the intangible wiring all over his chestplate, and the sudden authority over his unconquerable CMO all snapped into place, like a self-solving puzzle.

"Oh, Primus. I'm Prime now, aren't I?"


	32. Chapter 4 - Part 20

PART 20  
#Special Operations

As he stared as his own reflection, slacked-jaw with a lack of anything even remotely coherent to verbalize, Orion kept his complete silence as he mulled over the new changes on his frame, a frame that no longer seemed his, but rather so far and dettached, stranger and unfamiliar. Despite how disturbing it was to feel every single inch of a frame that was yours, yet somehow foreign and alien at the same time; the only thing occupying every inch of Orion's processing capacity was the content of the conversation he had just shared with, well, weirdly enough, _himself_.

Without an invitation, Ratchet took it his responsibility to elaborate further on the matter. "Your spark was fluttering in and out of existence, so we – or I, for that matter – decided that your merging with the Matrix would at least help stabilize it somewhat, and guess what? I was right, as always. The occurrence – alignment, or whatever unexplainable phenomenon that was with your spark – was instantly remedied. All of my readings indicated your sparkpulse has been restored to full intensity, without further complications or lasting consequences, at least ones that we could find." He reported systematically, looking not too please with Orion's detailed explanation, or rather a lack thereof. The words just slipped by his audio receptors unheard, however, foreshadowed by an overwhelming curiosity as to _his other_ 's unique existence. For an instance, he contemplated bringing up the topic in casual conversation and make use of Ratchet's medical expertise, though strictly on a hypothesis matter of speaking, but simultaneously a faint presence in his spark made itself known with a loud, clear mental negativity. It instantly forfeited any conspiratorial endeavor plotting in his jumble mess of a reformatted processor, and he was placated with a flurry of wise decisions and advices that sound too diplomatical even to his own unique speech pattern. Voices that emitted wisdom, accumulated through time by previous Primes. _The whisper of the Matrix_.

"So… how was the trip? Was it… resourceful, at least? Surely reconaisance wasn't that bad of an idea, was it?" He opted to follow through with a good old distraction of switching topic. Though by Ratchet's slit-narrowed optics, Orion knew he didn't buy it, just rather went with it for the moment.

"You are one lucky fragger that I got back here in time to save your sorry aft; these newbies barely had an idea if your processor was damaged or your limbs were dettached, and was in the process of dissecting you when I interrupted in time. So I would say us not gathering any valuable intel is not exactly a disbenefit, but merely a blessing in disguise, call it what you will." He replied crankily, his gruff intonation suggesting exactly the opposite of what he was insinuating. Without sparing a nanoklick to give any further information, he returned to typing furiously into his data console, seemingly more contended with filling his own personal banks than with fullfilling Orion's desire, to which he would have found irritating, had the Matrix not soothed his spark with an unnatural tranquility aura.

"So I assume we didn't find anything unusual, or slightly of importance?"

"I wouldn't say that." A brief pause in his input to mull over choices of word, before he resumed the task at servo with a renewed surge of speed. "On my little… excursion, I had come towards some indeed very suspicious activity from our favourite Senator Shockwave." Upon the mentioning of his misguided friend's designation Orion flinched a little, though Ratchet who hadn't noticed continued on unfazed. "Words on the streets had it that he was experimenting on a whole new formula of Invincibility potion and was carrying it out in some remote area of the Sea of Rust so as to avoid snooping optics. If what I heard is correct, then it would seem that even his fellow Senators and Councilmecha weren't too very excited about it either. Definitely shady, illegal slag, if the secrecy of it all is any indicator to go by." He added an exasperated huff of air for drastic measure. "I wonder when would that mech finally stopped his insane shenanigans? It creeped me out, and heck, even _I_ had got much experience with working on the delicate internals of a Cybertronian. Still haven't got used to it any more than my first slagging cycle at medical school." The mech mumbled under his vents too loud to be of any attempt at subtlety, and so Orion couldn't help but feel a tendril of guilt snaking its way into his spark, knowing that it was somewhat _his_ fault that a monster was created.

"Makes sense, though. Shockwave's nonappearance from the first row of the Senators surely did evoke quite a few handful of questioning from the Councimecha themselves, I would tell you that." A gruff voice made its presence known as its owner walked into the medbay, shattering whatever qualms of Orion having that they _might_ actually be having some privacy to their conversation. The mech didn't even bother to hide the fact he had been eavesdropping the whole time, just strolled casually inside and made his own contribution to the topic at servo. Orion was briefly concerned about his liability, but Ratchet quickly noticed his wariness and stopped whatever program he was coding to make proper pleasantries with the two unintroduced parties.

"Orion, Ironhide: long time friend, even longer Royal guard, our trusty source of information on all of the Council's latest movements and progress back in the Autobots' age. Ironhide, Orion Pax: leader of Autobots, formerly caller of small shots, now active Matrix bearer and caller of even bigger shots." He then fixed them both an expectancy glance, before swishing on his afterburners and resumed with his newest obsession, leaving the two apprehensive mecha staring each other down in a contest of the authority. Eventually, with the unprecedented aid of the Matrix – of Leadership no less – Orion acquired the upper servo as Ironhide made the first tentative to throw caution to the wind and extended a palm in greeting. Taking the full enormity of it within one grasp of his newest remodeled gigantic equivalent , the two shared a solemn servoshake, courtesy of Ratchet's credence.

"So… what was the earlier ruckus? Even from the distant hallway, the nosiness of those guards on duty really _is_ bothering as pit… what hit you?" He observed Orion's entire frame fully from helm to peds with such meticulousness that rivaled even those of Shockwave everywhen the mech was analyzing and inspecting someone new, which, he realized with a mental jolt, the mech actually _was_ , though not on a scientific degree as much as it was on a conventional, perhaps casual, friendly one. Still, he himself was wary of his new frame as well, and the mech staring at every joint and crook on his stranger's frame did little to help it rather than worsen his self-conscious and force the mech to shrink back into himself, if it was even possible. Deciding to restore social norms to the best of his ability, Orion quickly steered the attention away from himself and back to the topic.

"Apparently, Ratchet diagnosed some sort of… spark failure, I presume? Even I haven't been thoroughly informed of the full extent of my own malfunction. Ratchet?" He posed the question and directed it at the CMO, though with his deep, rumbling vocalizer it came out more of a command than an actual query. Fortunately, none of the two presence in the room seemed too bothered with it, after all, he _was_ their Prime, their supposed leader now, and he should get use to being the authoritative figure soon enough. The Matrix emitted a brighter flow of spark energy in his spark as if in agreement, and Orion found himself enjoying the pleasant tingling sensation, though not the sentiments of what they stood for exactly.

"Of course it was a spark failure!" Ratchet exclaimed hastily, looking at one corner of the medbay where Orion crooked his helm joint at an uncomfortable angle to follow his gaze and found a surveillance camera well-concealed behind decoration ornaments. Ironhide quickly caught on, and with a flick of his wrist, the device's lens dimmed in deactivation. The mech then remotely shuttered the double entrance to the medbay, before giving an "all-clear" signal to Ratchet, who peeped both's radio frequencies with a soft ping.

::Ratchet! Why all the discretion? Is it that bad?:: Orion questioned, a servo instinctively placed on his chassis where his sparkchamber laid underneath layers of protective armor, fluttering wildly in anticipation.

::Your spark seemed to deteriorate at first, but then it showed specific symptoms of one reproducing itself, like your spark was generating an offspring. Your older spark chamber was ill-equipped to perform a procedure of that complexity, and so I thought giving you the Matrix would help aid your spark signature and see it through the reproduction process.::

::Wait just a klick here. Are you insinuating that… I was… pregnant?:: He asked in shock, disbelief etched deep on his melancholy frown.

::That's about the gist of everything normal, wait until you hear this. The moment the Matrix was installed over your sparkchamber, readings of your spark's energy signature began picking up in intensity while the supposed offspring of yours – which strangely enough shared an identical signature with yours, something so rare an occurance that there were few recordings of them throughout Cybertronian's medical history – got weakened dramatically, until it remerged back into your own, like I said before.::

::So… it was some kind of reabsorbtion?:: Ironhide surmised, speaking up for the first time, reminding Orion of his presence.

::It wasn't just like that. If it was a reabsorbtion, then Orion's spark would've been briefly boosted with excessive overcharge, before releasing them in sparkwaves like most normal sparks would after an intercourse session.:: Ironhide snorted, his optics telling how comical he thought the entire sexual reference was, and Ratchet shot him a seething glare, irritated to be disturbed within one of his scientific lecture. Returning his sole attention to the monitors, he continued. ::This time, Orion's spark energy spiked, undoubtedly, but only to the full extense of his previous ultimate limit and no more. After two joors, it went stable again, almost as if the two different life signature rejoined as one spark: Orion's spark, and tried as I might, I couldn't understand why these readings are suggesting that it had always been like that before the two splitted for some reason, creating the abnormality that we witnessed.:: While Ratchet continued to mull over data, Orion had to refrain his own ventilation system from making a gagged, choking sound. Ratchet had struck too close to home, and while he hadn't truly realized it yet, the glint in Ironhide's optics as they brushed with Orion's told him the other mech _knew_.

::And don't you just stop to reconsider for a moment, just how coincidental it was, for such an occurrence to happen _particularly_ when Orion here was approaching the Matrix of Leadership itself?:: He coaxed, his previously relaxed facial expression now steeled to reveal no emotion at all, though if the Matrix's empathetic ability to sense EM field within close proximity was of any accuracy, then suspicion and skepticism was rolling off the mech in _waves_.

::Now that you put it that way…:: Ratchet slowly turned around to face Orion, his own datapads and monitors forgotten. The two mecha quickly closing in on him, evoking a strange feeling of claustrophobia he had never had the displeasure of experiencing before, a disbenefit of the new remodeled frame, as his optics darted around the room frantically to settle on firmly locked entrances. Blocked exits.

Somehow, the thought in itself was strangling and soon enough, Orion found himself inducing from a panic attack assaulting at every sensitive neural wiring of his processor, which even the soothing aura of the spark could not assuage. He was hyperventilating by the time Ratchet reached his medberth, and the mech had to back away in fear of him hurting himself or them in the process.

"Orion! Calm down! We need to run some more tests! If there was a slightest chance that the Matrix caused such an abnormality, then its compability with your system, if not integrated properly, can leave permanent damage on your coding and spark!" He shouted over a writhing Orion, but his voice got lost somewhere in the delirious mental state of a panic-induced Prime. He jolted, spasmed and thrashed to and fro on the medberth even with bounds and straps activated to keep him in place, but the remodeled frame was of large size and so came commensurate hydraulic strength. A strong pull of the servo at a leverage angle, and the left bondage came flying across the spacious room, indenting the wall with a loud impact before being shattered to pieces as it hit the ground. Realizing Orion's unstability for the actual threat that it posed, Ironhide's core programming as a Royal guard kicked in and the mech instinctively aid the more vulnerable of the two, a flailing medic trying – and failing spectacularly – to avoid being crushed by a blind swipe of the servo that was thrice his own in comparison.

"If you don't calm down now, we are going to be forced to apply incapacitating force! We only wish to help!" His words bounced off the mech ineffectively as the mech took another blind swipe in his direction. He was lost in a world of his own, too deeply set in his processor to actually perceive any audio receptions, and as so, all attempts at communication with the mech yielded no positive results. With a regretful sigh, Ratchet activated his handheld device, and an electrical current was charged straight into his sparkchamber from the cords still connected from before, knocking the mech out cold instantly, ceasing his exuberant behaviour and rendered the frame lifeless on the medberth. Ratchet exercised caution to use an electricity current of the lightest intensity only barely enough to shock his spark into involuntary stasis, but his tank still churned with guilt as heavy as lead. Beside him, Ironhide watched the scene played out with a wary pair of optics, being thoroughly taken off-guard with such an unexpected ordeal.

"Frag. Remind me why the heck did I even bother befriending you and associating myself with your lunatic slagheap of whatever monstrosity _that_ was in the first place, would ya, _old-timer_?" He shot an exasperated glance at Ratchet, who responded in exactly the same manner.

"Hey, you're much older than myself, _old-timer_. And that, well, beats me. You're the one showing up on my doorsteps requesting entrance after you saw that advertisement of curing sexually-transferred viruses with a free injection back in my start-up cycles, and despite my refusal you kept nagging me to call you out on your favor whenever I see fit, and playing the Autobots' optics and audio receptors seemed perfectly fine back then. I still didn't understand why you needed that injection so badly, so desperately in the first place. It was almost as if-

"Shut up. Not one more word, or I swear I _will_ make yourself desperate for that same injection." Ironhide's optics locked on Ratchet's, and without a verbal confirmation, the mech understood the conveyed message perfectly, if his sudden compliance was any evidence.

* * *

 _ **Tranquility. Placidity. Equanimity.**_

Shrugging off the familiar sensations which he had already been used to from the last frequent, he found himself awoken in a world of his own, encased and incarcerated within the walls of his own frame, the only holding cells were nothing but his own sparkchamber. Engulfed in the life essence of a spark, he could feel every emotion on a much deeper level than what his mortal processor could replicate, and the same intensity bristled his solitude into a sorrow that seemed to last eternally. Without _the other_ 's presence, his lonely consciousness felt invading and intrusive to the sacred area, as if being in a element not of his own, or at least not fully, and the vacant emptiness only amplified it umpteenth times worse.

Suddenly, within the midst of turbulent thoughts and disarray feelings, a revelation dawned upon his entire being: he _is_ a spark _._

In his most basic form, the spark and the spark only. The purest life force of a Cybertronian in its most fundamental existence. He was without an incarnation, a physical connection of any sort with the frame housing his essence, or any actual bond with the entity known as Orion. He was just him; all in all, not even a single flicker of thought, a spot of flaw, a personality component, or a prejudiced misconception underlaying his being; all that there had ever been, was, is, and always will be was him, his own being, in the most literal sense of the statement. He was what _made_ the entity known as Orion, not the other way around, and as of current, the lack of an actual identity didn't bother him; he was just pleased to be as is.

Yet, seemingly dissatisfied to let him be, an insistent, continual pulse drummed over a tendril of cognizant spark matter, tethering just beyond the edge of his consciousness. The inquisitive nature in him refused to deny his own curiosity, and before he knew it the energy source had already incremented into a steady rhythm, repetitive in certain lengthwave sections, similar to the attributes of a transmission frequency. Though this one was distinctively unique, for its wavelength imitated the inimitable that of a sparkpulse's energy in order to approach his consciousness in this lifeform.

Decoding the source, he was surprised to learn of its origin, from all but _another_ spark. This one shared a signature so distinctively identical to his that the nature of it all boggled his calm, sated being with a perpetual desire for the satisfaction of a closure. And so, he traced the mysterious message to its location, whereabouts unbeknownst yet, but with prospective expectation in mind.

The information revealed forced his spark into an awakening jolt enough to arouse the mech from his slumber for good.

* * *

"Stop it, you scrumpy little-

"Why you, you nasty brat-

"Your disposal tin can better-

"Oh, I will behave alright, but not after you've learnt your lesson!"

The squirming medic tried his best to push the bulkier mech off his backplating, but the mech overpowered him down to the least functional of his hydraulic pistons, and relatively encountered no such difficulty in reducing his opponent to an indistinguishable mess of thrashing disconsent, helpless to achieve anything with his resistance other than offering the other mech much more excitement as the later pinned both his flailing servos down onto the ground and securely locked him in place. He leant closer to the mech's audio receptors as his vocalizer emitted a low growl.

"Here now itty kitty, be nice and I'll make sure this won't hurt a bit." For extra measure, he extended his glossa to brush over the mech's vulnerable faceplate with the tip, and the response he received was instaneous.

"Hurt my aft! Get your dirty glossa off of my faceplate, or I will remodel you into an organic toaster if that is the last thing I do!" He squirmed even harder, limbs flailing and waving frantically in every direction possible, knocking off various medical instruments from their orderly shelves and storage units and displacing them in a huge stacking pile on the ground. With a blind grasp, the medic acquired a tool of laser scapel in one servo, and with a nearly impossible maneuverability rotated his entire upper chassis backwards to stab his offender in the shoulder-joint.

Unfortunately, the mech was much faster, and in an instance the tool was stripped from his possession, now pointed at his own unmentionable's tightly-shut cover by a large, callous servo. "Always prefering it rough, eh? I won't complain to that!"

"Wait a nanoklick, would you? At the very least you could have asked me for my willing participation!" He screamed, vocalizer reaching impressive decibels in a last-ditch effort of saving his own virginity, or at least what remained of it after their last vigorous session, one the other was itching to replicate.

"Oh, shut your trap before I shove it up your own afterburners, you _know_ you liked it." He practically growled into the medic's audio receptors, and whatever fight left in him dissipated with a reluctant huff, accompanied by an electrical humming resulted from his own engine heating up from their close proximity. Long dormant desires were awoken from hibernation with a mechanical whirring response from his gestation tank, and the medic started to relax his tightly-coiled hydraulic pumps in anticipation of the upcoming event.

Unfortunately, it was not one without interruption.

"Ratchet! I think I found Megatron! He's in-

Orion's panic mantra was cut short at the sight his recalibrating optical sensors relayed to his processor, and the haunting image, tried as he might, could never be fully wiped clean from his databanks ever again.

* * *

[SYSTEMS: functional]

[OPTICAL SENSORS: online]

[AUDIO RECEPTION: operational]

[CENTRAL PROCESSING UNIT: rebooting]

Endless scrolls of warning notifications swarmed his HUD upon regaining consciousness. With a deft acknowledgement, Soundwave dismissed them all as insignificant and gave the command to clear his notification panel as fresh inputs from his surroundings were prioritized for analysis. The first conclusion based on the identical holding cells within optical sight suggested he was incarcerated inside an imprisonment unit, awaiting further decision from a higher authority figure. As a mech in jail, his first response was to try and remember the presequencing events, and so he performed basic scan on his neural cortex. Memory banks began flushing back to notify him of the latest course of action, but it proved to be not as productive, considering a major part of it was nothing but empty blackness. The rest of the file was corrupted, no doubt from the collateral damage dealt to his processor by his mysterious abductor down in the dark tunnelways. Further recollection to the best of his ability revealed the sleek, stealthy built of his kidnapper, with a black paint scheme adorning his servos and white nanites to cover from the shoulders upwards. Unfortunately, that was hardly distinguishable material, considering how generic that colour plating was in the entire Cybertronian community, it would be the cycle the dual suns orbitting the planet crashed into each other before he could identify his abductor with so little description he had gathered.

Switching his attention span to something more practical, Soundwave scoured high and low for any possible infrastructure weakness or capsulating failure to take advantage of and plot his getaway from, but to no avail; the holding chamber was built as solid and steady as an actual battle fortress. The room was quite spacious for a cell unit, probabaly the size of his old quarter back in the gladiators' pit. The interior was simple and plain, a metal berth, a waste disposal basin, and – he couldn't believe in his own optics – an actually-in-working-order Energon dispender, wired to a large filter-distiller mechanism, connected to several large crude Energon tubes that ran across the whole prison complex. It would appear that his cage just so happens to house the entire complex's Energon distributor system, and Soundwave quickly noted the information mentally for further exploitation. In a corner of the cell laid a tiny drainage vent, whence residue of dried Energon trace laced the metallic shine of the floor with a tinted blue shade. With an experimental tug, the vent remained unshifted; just as he had expected, it was firmly integrated into the ground as an immovable extension of the engineering design. A quick inspection of the tall ceiling disclosed no further information than the generous number of fluorescent lighting fixture, all radiating with a warm glow distinctive of the old, outdated and energy-consumptious model, bearing out the conjecture that the place was ancient, at least several vorns ago. Despite the aging and corrosion, most part of the wall was still in pristine condition, and the deep, rumbling resonance resulted when he pounded on a certain intact section confirmed the heavy density and reinforced material that made up these old walls to be a long-exhausted metal resource with near indestructible peculiarity. All evidences seemed to support the previous concluded theory that whoever maintained this imprisonment complex, they didn't want to take any unnecessary chances, and just conveniently so, they surely had plenty of Energon to spare.

Unfortunately, his private mulling was interrupted, as the earlier ringing of the walls was brought to the hyper-sensitive audio receptors of a mech being held opposite of his cell unit. As the mech rose to his peds, optics recalibrating their focus on his own observing form, the lighting reflected through the dimly-lit hallway revealed the nimble, short silhouette of a Enforcer's standard model. His helm glimmered at a peculiar sharp edge, and at further inspection Soundwave recognized the red Chevrolet from a particular memory file that was absent from its place just a few nanoklicks before. It had served as a essential evocative symbolic figure, and repressed memories emerged from within his deep subconsciousness in a nauseating, overwhelming wave: the mech he was looking at was none other than his own abductor.

Opening his own vent to vocalize his dismay, he received a single error message in response.

[COMPONENT: unfound]

Reaching a servo to his own vent, to his utter horror, he found not a slid where used to open to a mouth chamber which housed his glossa, nor was the two liplates of his vent adorning the absent slid; his servos brushed past nothing. Complete, total vacant; other than a smooth, sleek surface, his entire faceplate was non-existent, and with a blind wipe the sensor nodes on his digits reported the same even platform over his optics, which indicated the presence of a built-in optical band and faceplate. His own faceplate was _gone._ In its place now is a modified monstrosity that chilled the usually stoic, calm and composed mech right down to the center of his core in frozen terror.

As the mech observed him from behind two layers of reinforced glass, he sensed his sudden rigidity in posture and lack of any physical response, the other mech came to the logical conclusion the mech was startled by his own movement, and so deliberately made an effort to proceed with no sudden advancement so as to give the other time to adjust. Though he knew he had been one to discreetly abducted the mech, he had no recollection whatsoever of how the two of them both ended up inside these imprisonment chambers, and until he could be certain that the mech in front of him wasn't involved, he would still have to treat the mech as a possible hostile, without revealing so much as a trace of guilt on his faceplate when he addressed his turbulent thoughts to the mech for the first time. To his own surprise, the mech answered before his own vocalizer made a conscious attempt to verbalize his inquery.

"Knowledge of current predicament: unclear. Query: abduction's purpose?" A mechanical, emotionless voice emanated from the other's unmoving faceplate, seemingly undisturbed by the lack of a normal faceplate component. Though if the hallway had been more narrow, his optics would have picked up the image of the other mech's servos being fisted tightly enough that the margins had turned white from Energon flow obstruction as the mech was trying his best not to display his chagrin in order not to provide his opponent with an exploitable weakness.

"You were a possible candidate for the leadership position of a riot with a violent-blown tendency. Gathering intelligence on you was the tactical solution to effectively hinder riot's activity." The mech replied calmly, not a single trace of emotion betrayed his own guilt at how his intended action, for better or for worse, had ended up with the both of them incarcerated and of no use to the active war outside. Soundwave didn't need such mortal indications though, he could already feel what the mech was truly thinking inside his own processor, the sound as loud and clear as the sunlight in the Sea of Rust desert, which was also the most probable conjecture of their current wherabouts if the corrosion state of the poorly-maintained hallway was of any indication.

Suddenly, it all dawned on him like a late but glorious sunrise from beyond shrooms of clouding skylight. The absence of his faceplate, the mental voice pronounced wordlessly from his non-existent vocalizer, and the non-verbal response from his opponent who had barely conceived the idea of his answer, and every faint tendril of concealed emotion as easy to read as an underage's simplified Neo-Cybex alphabet. It was also the most plausible reason, the only reason he could fathom why such an inhumane modification had been done to his faceplate.

He was now _telepathic._ And the extra space to install the special component was acquired by the removal of his facial features.

"Suggested plan of action: cooperation to escape." He proposed to the other mech out of a sense of deprivation. Suddenly placated with the breaking news, he no longer wanted to spend any more nanoklick contained inside the small, claustrophobic compartment. He needed to get away, to wherever yet unknown, but at least far, very far away from this place and its inhumane residence. He had to resort to requesting the assistance of the enemy, someone no less than his own kidnapper, but it was his best opportunity of a successful getaway, and he would willingly sold away his own pride in such a moment of desperation. Apparently taken aback by his sudden proposal, the mech stumbled over his own words in an attempt to formulate a coherent response.

"Erhm…

"Suggested plan of escape: agreement?" He pushed. It suddenly felt as if the walls themselves were closing in on him to narrow the already small chamber into a strangling hold and stroke the last huff of air out of his vent as it crushed his sparkchamber to oblivion pieces and distinguished his lifeforce in a sickening pop. Setting aside his own unfound concern, he reached into the Enforcer's processor for a point of leverage, and with a quick mental snoop the mech was through. "Query: Prowl does not prefer to return to Jazz?"

He felt millions of possibilities passing through the mech's processor of possible information leak through which he obtained his and his intimate's explicit relationship, the impressive modified processing capacity of the mech allowing him to apprehend a large ammount of information at the same time, though Soundwave didn't have as much fortune, for a very severe helm ache threatened to split his processor in halves lest he removed his own presence from the mech's processor, and so the mental tendril was withdrawn hastily. With his processor working at full capacity, the mech actually _felt_ his retreating telepathy rummaging backwards from the accessed memory files, and as they met optics to vision band again, a look of recognition flashed over Prowl's bright blue.

"You are telepathic." He accused coldly, voice cutting into Soundwave's own searing hot pain. _He didn't want any of this!_ But instead, he leveled his gaze with the ground and gave nothing, not an affirmative nor a denial to acknowledge the accusation, which to Prowl was more than enough confirmation than any verbal reply could be.

"Agreement?" He pressed again. If Prowl had already known his tricks, there was a very high probability that the mech wouldn't follow through anymore. Mentally praying for a miracle, he silently seethed at himself for being such an abomination with an ability that did nothing good as much as it did bad.

"Agreed. We will cooperate to get out of these holding cells and the entire complex altogether, but from there we go our separate ways." Prowl induced with the air of authority and conviction so firm that Soundwave had no qualms of even bother disobeying. Scanning the mech's emotional cortex was he surprised to find totally no trace of a judgemental thought, only wariness from being in close quarter with a telepath. With the newly-earned respect for the mech, Soundwave mentalized a response with as much solemnity as he could muster and transcend in a thought.

"Agreed."

* * *

Behind a monitor screen, Shockwave observed from his surveilance room, curious to take in the two reformatted mecha and study their behaviour. So far, the interactions between his experiments proved invaluably educative, as he jostled quick notes down onto a datapad. It had began as a test round for his latest drone model, when two of them returned early on shift to bring back two mortally-injured mecha caught in the crossfire of a battle stimulation practice underground the spacious Iacon sewer system. Rather than disposing of them on sight, a spark of ingenuinity struck him; the mech had dedicated countless cycles and off-cycles to realize the two schematics of his latest tinkering: one of a processor capacity booster and the other of a telepathic scanner. With some slight alterations to better suit each individual frametypes and to support some missing life-supporting functions damaged from the fight, he had completely installed and integrated the new addition into their processors while their spark was sustained in a concoction of dilluted Dark Energon. His project was a triumphant success, and watching the two recently recovered mecha conversing after undergoing major processor rerouting prided him to no end as he was reminded of his briliance and inventive prowess, that he was almost convinced to reinstall a modified emotional cortex inside his own processor to allow himself a bit of satisfaction from his enormous breakthrough.

 _Ping._

The klaxon went off indicated total completion of Dark Energon transfusion to project #002's frame, and Shockwave was forced to relinquish his joy for a moment to tend to the mech. Unhooking several large tubes from the silver frame, he activated a sequence to online the stasis-induced mech, while typing furiously on a nearby control panel. Unlit optics shone bright red as the mech rose to his peds, servos tightly gripped by his sides; his entire frame glowed with an unearthly aura that radiated pure, unadulterated power.

"Arghh! Orion! You shall not deceive me with your puny tricks again!"

He ripped the rest of the tubes protruding from his frame with barely any effort, making the substance flowing inside spluttered and squirted all over his spotless silver paintjob and flowed puddles on the metallic floor. Wisely, Shockwave had already initiated a forcefield around his operation hub to divert any droplets of colourful substance from his own paintjob and the console's delicate circuitry, but still frowned when his once pristine floor had no longer been. Barely ceasing in his typing, he addressed the silver ex-gladiator.

"The second session of Dark Energon infusion should be enough to completely eliminate any vulnerability to mortal wounds, such as those of poisioning or electrical overloading, though _do_ try and exercise caution when engaging enemies, as a direct assault on your spark or processor would still be the end of you if provided the severity of the attack outreaching beyond your regenerating factor." Shockwave informed dutifully, his voice an unchanging drawl of annoyance.

"That pest harbouring this frame is frustrating! Can the Dark Energon remove it?" He demanded.

"Unfortunately, no. It is but an extension of your spark, another persona, if you will, and it would continue to rise to any past evocation if strong enough to overide your dormant coding." Shockwave's mono-optical faceplate managed to show distaste at the mentioning of emotion inside his otherwise invincible warrior's frame, quite an impossible feat that Megatron would have had to give him credit for if he had been in his right state of mind. As of current, he only twitched up the right side of his vent, mimicking a lopsided grin perfectly.

"Then I shall _not_ give it any chance to. Orion will _rue_ , the cycle he made a fool out of me!" The mech let out a fit of unrestrained, maniac laughter that rang across the voluminous space in an endless loop. His internal components whirred to life one by one, releasing mechanical hisses and hums of his reloading weaponry; a graceful symphony of destruction and war, awaiting to rain down annihilation on the helm of his archenemy and the traitorous faction that dared to stand in the way of revolution.

What escaped his knowledge, however, was that nestled deep within his consciousness, a soft internal ping alerted Orion of his location, as the fragmentation of the Thirteenth Prime was brought aroused from deep slumber with the fresh surge of Dark Energon coursing path through his system.


	33. Chapter 4 - Part 21

PART 21  
#Infiltrate

Pedfalls echoed in the vast, empty corridor in a rush as the two mecha made a run for their lives. Their collective systems were overloaded with exertion, both whirring extra loudly in a vain attempt to cool engines, evidence of such hardship they had had to overcome the last few cycles. The two of them made a weird and uncompatible, but yet still very effective team, if their progress so far was of any indication.

It wasn't as if Prowl had been the dimmest bulb in the box before the modification; he stood out very well as being one of the sharpest mecha back in the Enforcement Academy, but whatever brilliance that kept him a competition with these fellow runner-up was now totally eliminated; his processor could now analyze and strategize within _astroklicks_ , surpassing the speed of light itself with ease, officially marking him as the fastest tactician to have ever existed. That said, Prowl still felt somewhat discontented with someone illegally experimenting on him even without his acceptance, but seeing as how smooth the addition had corporated into his system so far, he dared to say it would be _beneficial_ to keep it by his side, perhaps for good.

Beside him, Soundwave shared the exact opposite sentiments. The removal of his faceplate – something that creeped his mannerism and stoicism out to a fritzing bunch of circuitry no less – had struck the mech much more traumatically than Prowl could have anticipated, especially when given his emotionless cover back on his old faceplate; the mech barely used half of the facial piston on his own helm. So the sorrow and agony he subtlely expressed boggled Prowl's logic neural to a lag, he just couldn't comprehend it. The story he had managed to coax and gather from the mech remained simple and informative: experiments done on him had replaced his fully operational faceplate with a telepathic module extension, allowing him to leaf over mecha's mind to read their current thoughts, reveal their deeper memories, or even intercept their emotions. It seemed like a violative ability to have, Prowl had surmissed, and was relieved to hear the confirmation from the mech that he, too, was uncomfortable with such intimate knowledge into others' lives. For the short, brief duration of their one-sided conversation – of one party verbalizing while the other just kept silent and thought out loud his ideas – Prowl had found himself devoting much more respect for the mech than his intellligence research had, and a good judgement of character that he was, he believed this mech wasn't as derranged as his faction leader Megatron, only misguided with a blinding loyalty. The mech had opted to keep silence at his judgemental thought, and for the sake of a privacy illusion that it had created, Prowl was grateful that this responsible mech, rather than anyone else, had been on the receiving end of the telepathic module.

Individually, they both were competent and efficient, even more so when working in their prefered element of stealth and speed. But altogether, talking about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts: they formed a force to be reckoned with, in all literal sense of the phrase. Taking full advantage of the modifications, the two of them made their getaway from the holding cells by combining their strengths; Prowl would direct the instructions and Soundwave would dismantle the Energon distiller to sabotage the filter with a reversed installation, the resulting corrupted Energon quickly bring down the power to their brig and the two made their escapede from there, down a large corridor to reach an intersection of numerous more. By tactical elimination, Prowl brought their options down to but two pipelines leading two opposite direction. Rather than splitting up, Soundwave had suggested them stay together as strength in numbers, and his telepathic abilities proved to enhance his intuition with a better success rate than pure luck would have, as they reached the main junction in less than two breems ago in a surveilance-free section of the corridor where they moved unmonitored.

Countless times had Soundwave sprinted to a nearby cover and brought him alongside just as a few drones past by too close for his comfort. Without a spark signature and any ressemblance of a sentient processor, his Enforcer scanner could never pick up the security personnel before too late, leaving his fate entirely in the servo of a telepathic whose liability he found even more infallible than he himself could operate on his best cycle. If the mech hadn't been a fanatic of the brute gladiator, he would have made a fine tactician along his ranks, probably even surpassing himself; or at least that was what he had thought before he got a firm negative for a response courtesy of the forgotten special ability.

Unbeknownst to him, the telepath was actually enjoying his company eventhough his rigid and stoic posture might have suggested otherwise. It wasn't like his telepathy was consensual to his choosing **,** at least as of yet, and as so he had no say whatsoever about when to read into another mech's private life like his own, and fortunately enough his first companion had been the calm, composed and calculated tactician rather than any random street mech. He was well-educated, and with excellent mannerism, Soundwave found himself comfortable reveling in the mech's insightful observation: its focus never wavered far from their priority objective at servo, and even if it did once in a while, it wouldn't intrude too much into the privacy life of the mech anymore than at a surface shallow, and for that he was grateful. Ironically, the downside of being in Prowl's helm was none other than the flux of variant rationalizing, with a speed unrivaled and unmatched due to both his reprogramming and his tactical prowess, leaving even Soundwave's considerably competent mind reeling in overload as it wasn't prepared, nor properly equipped to process such immense concentration of data flow.

Whether or not someone had discovered them, they never got the chance to find out, for the mech's excellent espionage expertise had provided him with enough knowledge and experience to predict incoming security personnels, and though the mech hadn't entirely realized it on his own, his modified processor capacity allow for subconscious surrounding analysis, and while the mech himself hadn't taken advantage of his ability, Soundwave made sure it was his duty to learn every invaluable bits and pieces that it offered. Most of the time, his quick reflexes saved both of their protoform by a true spur of intuitive instinct, or from the faint pedfalls registered through the mech's audio relays. His telepathy did do the job of picking up stray thoughts from foreign intelligence once or twice, yet the credit of their intactity contributed mostly to the mech's brilliance. Thinking of the continuous war raging outside their little excursion, Soundwave found himself hesitant to face off this same mech as an opponent rather than an ally, partially due to his combat ability and warfare prowess, but mostly due to the sentiments they now shared with one other. To his own surprise, when the thought of recruiting him for the Enforcers' rank opinionated, he found his own belief and dedication in Megatron wavering a little. For a mech of his loyalty, that was _critical_ , and so the firm negative was how he had concealed his dismay.

Yet, the idea plagued his mind and numbed his processor similar to a lurking predator's hunger for prey; it loomed over his staggering processor and await patiently for any opening, a slip-up, a programming loophole to strike, threatening to overide his own carrier model's maternal loyalty and replace it with a sense of belonging, of comradeship and talent appreciation, perhaps even the slightest glance into Prowl's receiving end of a blossoming friendship. Each by each, the offering perks of an Enforcer's life attracted him in so many aspects that Megatron's third-in-command didn't, and for the first time he actually questioned his role in the entire war: was it a right call to take the Decepticon's stance? Was he really making an improvement under Megatron's lead? Will he still be welcomed back into his faction after they realized the montrosity for what his ability really stood for? It was all he could do not to give in to the desperate desire to abandon Megatron and betray his cause, and as so his telepathy failed to channel three very clear processors right above them.

* * *

"Get your dirty peds off of my afterburners when you crawl, you glitching pervert!"

"Ratchet!" Orion reprimanded the exuberant behaviour of the medical officer, who adapted the sullen, pissed look of a denied sparkling. How he managed an impression while still acing the imposing personification of fear was beyond his extensive databank of milleniums of accumulated knowledge.

"See if I had a choice. This ventilation shaft is barely large enough not to scratch my perfect paintjob, let alone allow any room for maneuverability. I see it you would have to put up with my peds for a while longer." The Autobot soldier insisting on following them, Straxus, retorted with comparative snart in his vocalizer. Orion could almost mentally count down the large explosion of when Ratchet finally reached the end of his tolerance.

"Orion! Why did you bring this nuisance to begin with? What contribution can he possibly make that we could find value of?" Ratchet redirected his frustration at him instead, for which he was both grateful for not possibly causing the spark of a conflict what would most certainly give away their subtlety, but also exasperated to have to deal with the medic's infamous fit.

"We Autobots stand for justice, freedom, and equality, irrelevant of political power or financial status. If we deny this soldier the very right to contribute to his own cause and belief, what would differentiate us from the likes of those who Megatron lead?" He countered, mentally praying to Primus that the mech would be satisfied with his response and no further questions would be asked. Of course, considering his luck, it was a wonder how Ratchet hadn't started shooting at them out of pent-up frustration yet.

"Soldier? Pah! All he had done in the last joor or so is to impede our progress!" Just as expected, Ratchet snorted, outrageous at being brushed aside.

"Impede? I'll have you know, ancient toaster, that without the extra firepower these two babes pack," he motioned to his dual tank barrel and shook them a little at Ratchet just to coax some extra annoyance from the mech, "We would be sitting turbofoxes at the sinister Shockwave's twisted sense of mercy!"

Orion flinched a little at the mention of his long misguided friend. He had been manipulated into giving up all the vital information about their undercover operation by a very intrigued Ratchet and an equally suspicious Ironhide, and as the two tag-teamed him into submission, even the newly acquired knowledge of every Primes prior cannot properly defend him against the impending force of nature. Why Ratchet had deemed it necessary to accompany him on this mission was beyond him, and more so was the reason behind Ironhide's insistence of the soldier Straxus's back-up. His Matrix provided an intuitive guess that it was more to put him under _his_ monitor rather than the other way around.

"Given your stature and size, I would say subtlety isn't even a possible attempt to execute. Hence, your reasoning is typical for a mindless brute, which, minds me, fits your description perfectly."

"You hypocrisy functionist better watch your back, or I wouldn't bat an optical ridge when your frame is dismembered in pieces." The tankformer vowed darkly, his optics glinting with malice and distaste.

"I would much rather that." The mech rebut with as much venom as he could muster. Orion frowned as his processor brought up the possible scenario where he would have to disengage the two mech from an all-out brawl. Even the Matrix shuttered, for its premonition warned of a much darker time to come.

 _Splurt._

A single droplet of liquid splashed on a metal vent in the distance, its reverberation amplified by miles of metallic empty tubes and carried to his audio relay in a ringing made perpetual by its own echo. Cut off from his melancholy, Orion frowned. He wasn't used to being cut off from a constant line of thought: had he been his older self his highest sensitivity tuning would have never detected a sound that minimal. As for then, he tried disabling his audio reception, partially to escape the incessant bickering of his two companions, but mostly to quarantine any distraction from interrupting his musing. As his surrounding instantly dimmed back into a comfortable silence, his solitude was deafened by the shroud of negative visage looming over his processor, foreboding no less than a catastrophic hailstorm. What would he tell Ratchet when the need arise? Should his _other_ 's existence be revealed to anyone other than himself? How would they react when they knew it was his _other_ who intentionally started the Great War? Certainly no one would be as forgiving as him, not to mention his own twisted moral compass: if he himself hadn't been thoroughly consensual with himself, then how would anyone else be?

 _Splurt._

Another droplet surpassed his mental block to disrupt his stream of thought, but it didn't sway him off track this time. What would they do if this plan fail? Other than the few that had been with him right now, Ironhide was busy covering the newly designated Prime's disappearance to the public, and so would hardly be available to rush to their aid if needed. Granted he had been one to request a subtle infiltration without causing further complication, if any misdeed were to happen, they would be completely on their own.

 _Splurt_.

As if contributing further to his anxiety and concern, another drop of liquid rang out despite his muted audio receptors, nearly identical to the previous two, if anything only louder in volumn. Suddenly, the Matrix contorted in a swirling mess of fluttered impulses almost frantic, causing Orion to revert back to his awareness conscious setting.

 _Whoosh._

The next wave of sensation arrived in the form of aural, optical and audio, as the floodgate assaulted his hyper-tuned senses with an unpleasant overwhelming nausea. The smell of spoiled Energon tainted his olfactory sensors while the sound of liquid rushing approached his audios spontaneously all but confirmed a single fact, and the slick liquid congregating on his crawling knee caps and servos provided enough evidence to bear it out.

The vent system was actually a waste disposal unit kept in pristine condition, and right now it was releasing a flood of spoiled Energon heading in their direction. Ratchet and Straxus had stopped their bickering to gawk wordlessly at their current predicament, their frames freezing in respective position. Orion was little better, the wisdom of the Primes advising him to create an emergency escape route. Instinctively, a surge of power took over, coursing pure energy through his veins, mimicking the effect of adrenaline to an organic mechanism, and the Matrix pulsed in rhythm with the source of vigor. Orion allowed his intuition to take over, and a blaster was drawn from subspace compartment to unload a pack full of plasma to the nearest infrastructure joint, blowing a breach outside in a fiery explosion courtesy of the spoiled Energon. Without further ado, Ratchet took initial to jump into the void of unknown helmfirst, followed by the tankformer without a second glance. Orion soon followed them, while chancing a short glimpse back into the tunnel to see a raging wave of green Energon flushing at them, and as so unloaded another pack of plasma into the combustible liquid before making his getaway. He fell a few metres before the ground came into sight along with the two sprawled-out companions, but the explosion behind him made it he never reached the ground instead.

* * *

In the distance, klaxons were blaring, signifying the lockdown imminent of the entire experiment facility. His processor instantly filled with fear of being discovered and compromising their only escape route, and it took him nearly a breem to sort the pertubing anxiety aside to realize it originated not from his own, but from Prowl's. The professional espionage was loosing his calm in the wake of an unexpected event, his masterplan crumbling to pieces short a few klicks of their successful getaway. The accurate tactical processor refusing to admit oversight as it ran circles and circles of data over again to check for possible errors or malfunctions in hyper speed, cutting Soundwave's telepathy lose as he wisely dodged an incoming carrier-of-all-processor-ache. All of a sudden, the mech fritzed out, servos trembling and optics dimming until complete deactivation, his posture frozen as every joint and hydraulic was locked in place, while the mech's processor crackled with static charge from electricity overload. Just a nanoklick ago, as lively and vibrant the mech was, here and now his frame stood lifeless, totally still without any indication of an alive mech. Reaching out first with a telepathic link, then with a physical touch, Soundwave felt his companion's helm utterly blank, unresponsive and hot, typical symptoms of a mental crash, and the faint sparkpulse underneath thick, reinforced chestplate confirmed his theory: Prowl's processor ran _too_ fast even for himself to apprehend, and as so had overloaded itself as the information input surpassed processing capacity limit. As a result, the brilliant tactician was now no more than a real-size Enforcer action figure, a hindering dead weight to his escapede.

Rather than just up and left him, Soundwave was surprised to find himself stagnating: his peds dragged slowly across metal floor as he made the initiative to turn around and walk away. One step, two step, the mech slowed his pace until all he was doing was trudging along a section of the wall. His telepathic ability, so used to the flux variant of the mech's meticulous observation, now granted with a soothing silence, strangely enough felt more conflicted than at peace. The mech had all but outright declared him as public enemy, and vice versa did he return the favor, not to mention the whole non-consensual convincing to influence him to join his side, along with his wavering allegiance to Megatron altogether: Soundwave could, and was listing every single drawbacks from attempting to drag the mech with him through the rest of his improbable escape operation aside from the deadweight argument already firmly established, but despite all rationalization within his processor, he just couldn't leave the mech for whatever better or worse to come; undeniable was the fact they had traveled a long way from their cell, and though Soundwave knew he himself had played the vital role of securing their anonymity, it was Prowl who served the role of procuring their retreat, even if the mech himself hadn't known. And Soundwave did have a moral code contrary to popular belief, in spite of the made-up story he had told Megatron, the very story his leader boasted to every prying audio receptors to advocate unconditional fidelity and discourage sentimentality, he knew the thought of leaving the defenseless mech here alone to fend for himself was just purely _wrong_. He owed it to the mech to at least pull him out of this entire mess after all that had transpired together between them, and if there was one string of programming code left intact in his personality components, then it was a carrier model's loyalty.

Hence, Soundwave hefted the bulky frame of the shorter mech on his servos and began making for the main entrance of the facility, any previous caution threw to the wind along with any attempt at discretion. His pedfalls echoed loudly on the metal floor, ringing with resonance rivalling that of the klaxons' warning siren. Behind his back, trapdoor by trapdoor shut close in response to the overiding lockdown command broadcasted throughout the base, propulsing him to make double time with the extra heavy load if any of them were to make it out alive. The latest trapdoor shut down mere fractions of an astroklick after he slid through, its static electricity current brushing against his helm's antenna too close for comfort. Fortunately, it also cordonned off any security drones on the chase, securing their progress so far behind double heavy-duty blast doors. Jolting Prowl on his servos into a more upright position, he inspected the room they had dashed into in a hurry, its interior laden with glass panels and controlling consoles, all interconnected into a central monitor screen. Tinkering with a few switches, he managed to redirect a clean, undilluted flow of Energon to power up the display and several important-looking consoles along with the major lighting grid of the work area, illuminating a dim surgical white light onto the monitors and revealing their content. What he read, if true, was shocking enough that he dropped Prowl unceremoniously down on the nearest platform with an audible "flop" to get a closer examination of the information presented.

It was the schematic for a processor modification. One which will allow remote scanning of emotions and thoughts through frequency-sync wireless transmission technology accomplished with a high-sensitivity vibrator installed next to a major cerebro cortex, requiring the sacrifice of an insignificant aesthetic function. Over simplification, it was a reprogramming model to reroute circuitry from a faceplate to a telepathic add-on.

It was the schematic for _him_. For his monstrous experiment. For the rejected beast that he was now.

Soundwave staggered, his pedstand no longer stable, but rather a quivering mess underneath his hip joint, barely able to support his upper body's weight any longer. Grabbing a nearby desk in a vain endeavor to stop the shiver, he slipped his servo and the unfortunate appendage impacted on a rough surface instead, scratching whatever left of his paintjob into tiny lacerations and more severe scars. The pain of the chip, however, was barely recognizable, as his nerve center had already been triggered into panic reaction, the only sensation other than utter panic was a tingling numbness over every flailing limbs and twitching digits as he rode out the worst of a panic attack, something he would learn to grow accustomed to over the lengthy vorns as a Decepticon, but as of yet young and unexperienced, was extremely terrifying and vulnerable. He felt helpless to his own frame, and as his optics remained in perfect operational condition down to the last nanoklicks, he watched himself losing function one by one, until the sprawled mess on the ground barely shared any semblance to his own frame more than the navy colour plating.

* * *

[Warning: compromised control hub #062]

[Attention: required]

"Well well, it appears the unlikely combination of the enemy soldier and my lieutenant proved an unstoppable force." Megatron remarked, his optics never trailing an inch from the monitor screen he was observing with great interest.

"I concur. Subjects' cooperation was rather unexpected, yet yielded invaluable insight into behavioural alterations possibly caused during procedure. As for efficency tests, both subjects have displayed great compability with integrated components, as well as the ability to combine different expertise to achieve a common goal. This will provide an outstanding evaluation of the true extent of subjects' powers and their fluency in exploiting them." Shockwave recorded his observation with a servoheld datapad, optics scanning through arrays of data flooding across a monitor connected to the subjects' processor. His tone never wavering, he continued. "Flaws and weaknesses observed temporarily: Subject #PR3, processor overload due to hyperspeed analysis of surrounding. As expected from before surgeon, this flaw is incorrigible, an unavoidable drawback of hyperspeed processing booster, and therefore cannot be remedied against. Subject #SW4, telepathy seemed to enhance emotional response to surrounding trigger. Suggested course of action: total removal of emotional cortex." He brought up the option as if conversing about the climate condition of Cybertron, without a second thought at the accompanying result. The icyness of his tone alone sent shivers across Megatron's backstrut, and the mech instantly straightened his relaxed posture.

"No. Being operated upon non-consensually is a reasonably acceptable trigger panic attack such as is displayed by my faithful lieutenant, and purpose of carrying the Enforcer was strictly to exploit his enhanced processing capacity and environmental awareness." He countered, swivelling in his chair to meet Shockwave's mono-optical faceplate, his own a menace of intimidation and authority that would strike fear deep into the core of any Cybertronian. As it was, Shockwave was no mere Cybertronian, and as so the mech met the other's fiery glare with a matching cool, calculative gaze. "I have been meticulously analyzing the readings from Subject #SW4 processor the whole transpiration, and I could detect no telepathic link consciously made with the other processor, not to mention that it was _unresponsive_ since after the fritz."

"Still, the soldier is _mine_ to command, _mine_ to wish what to do with, and _mine_ to do so as I please. And I have made my decision, that lieutenant Soundwave shall keep his emotional cortex, if not for the blind fidelity instilled for me, then for the propulsion it would provide as the mech shall fight the war with much more intensity than any of your insentient drone ever will, if given the misconception that he was fighting for a noble cause or a higher purpose." Megatron rebutted, his voice rough and dangerously low with underlying threat, daring Shockwave to defy him once again, his optics glinting bright at the sight of a leadership challenge. He was craving for an opportunity to put the mech into his place, but unbeknownst to him the mech had no definition of what fear or submission actually was as a emotion. "Your reasoning is invalid. There is an 80% probability Subject #SW4 will not-

"I _said,_ _leave his emotions alone if you cherish your pathetic life."_ Megatron growled darkly, his claws silently submerging from his servos, stature poised and hydraulics coiled, ready to pound on the mech at any slightest indication of hostility. Yet, Shockwave served no higher master than logic itself, and certainly wouldn't allow Megatron or any mortal mech's will to dictate his action further. Finally pausing from skimming the data across the monitor, Shockwave turned towards Megatron's general direction, his optics settled on a nearby glass panel. "Subject #MG2, you are trepassing your privilege. Desist, or face dire consequences." The mech discreetly pressed a few buttons on a console behind his back while Megatron took the bait and follow his optics to the ornamental panel in front.

"I'll show you WHAT DIRE CONSEQUENCES YOU SHALL FACE WHEN YOU DEFY MEGATRON!" The mech roared as he lurched for Shockwave, his fusion cannon tearing a smoking hole from the decorative pannel and claws fully ejected to their full length, but Shockwave's press of a button had been superior. A force field materialized around Shockwave's frame, knocking the silver ex-gladiator backwards with the same force he charged at, crashing the bulky frame into the monitor where two unconscious mecha were lying, shattering the screen and exposing the internal circuitry inside. While the mech struggled to regain his pedstand, Shockwave had already pressed another sequence of buttons on his servoheld scanner, activating two cranes from the ceiling to restrain the wiggling mech in their steel-like grip. Closing in on the mech, Shockwave unsubspaced a small syringe filled with a white substance, his optics as cold and emotionless as ever as he stared down on his prized creation.

"Do you _honestly_ think I would create something as powerful as you and not have a way to control it? This solution here should diffuse the Dark Energon in your system and return you to your former self. Side effects include spontaneous combustion, lost of personality components or logic circuits frying. Immencing disarm procedure in 3… 2… 1-

 _BANG._

An explosion came from the waste disposal unit above their helms, filling the tall control room with smoke and vaporized green Energon obscuring his vision. Through the faint silhouettes of the falling figures, he counted two intruder compromising the control hub, but before he even had time to activate any defense mechanism, a third figure had appeared through the thick fog, followed by a rippling seismic wave which knocked him swiftly off his peds, before a fiery explosion devastated the entire command centre, putting him out of commission in its wake of fallen debris.


	34. Chapter 4 - Part 22

PART 22  
#Fallout

The afterforce of the blast propelled him feets into the air and tumbling until his backstrut impacted painfully with an audible crack at a shattered monitor screen, flickering the only dim light source illuminating the room and filling it with total darkness. While his night vision was still synchronizing, the blurr registration of movement flashed across his hyper-tuned sensors, raising all level of awareness to their straining peak in a vain attempt to regain his pedstand. Suddenly, a rough fist tightened around his helm joint, lifting him into the air and effectively constricting every vent of air cycle. In his fits of uncontrollable cough-like reaction against the dust, he failed to recognize the figure for who he was until it was too late.

A slick blade slided clean across his abdominal plating, impaling several minor fuel lines and his motor cortex, rendering the mech paralyzed totally without a single feel on either of his servos or peds. Rather than the unbearable torment such an assault should have brought, he felt numbness instead crawling across every pain grid nodes like an infesting pestilence, and the soothing aura of the Matrix the only resemblance of any actual sensation he could distinguish from the overwhelming oblivion teethering at the edge of his consciousness. Orion made a valiant effort to meet his executor's optics, but the mech had to levitated him a few more inches before their faceplates matched in altitude.

Even with the vague, unintelligible silhouette provided by faint glow of his cerulean and the other's magenta optics against dust-covered features, there was no way Orion wouldn't recognize the mech. Especially in that signature smirk of his.

"Well hello love, enjoying the promotion?"

"I… I don't understand. You...

His voice wavered, a few energon lines impaled with the stab flooding his air pipes, along with the maltreatment of dust invasion doing a number on his vocalizer resulting in the fritz, splurting quality of his usually stable tenor. Seemingly satisfied with his handiwork, Megatron tightened his grip on the mech's throat, crushing the outer protective layer of armor and revealing vulnerable components inside.

"Were badly infected with a venomous substance the last time we encountered? So very true. Yet, you seemed to have forgotten," his smirk reached the optics, a flash of malice and ferocity gleamed in the magenta glow before the optics returned to their natural ruby red, "that such display of cowardice shall not hinder Megatron for long." Orion chanced a quick look in the general direction where he had seen the aforementioned friend's frame before, when Megatron's servo shook him forcefully and rattled every exposed vitals to gather his sole attention, "for Megatron doesn't fail! He conquers!"

"When somebody begin refering to themselves in the third person, you know for certain their lunacy have gone far beyond any point of recovery." A snarky voice remarked, its owner deeply concealed in clouds of dust and under a large pile of debris typing away furiously at a particularly intact data panel. Yet, the absence of a physical representation seemed not to bother the mech, as Megatron replied with equal distaste.

"Show yourself, or would you rather watching your beloved friend deactivating on my own servo on account of your pusillaminity?" He growled with savagery, frustrated and provoked as shown by contorted facial expression. His engine rumbled loudly as if attempting to cool down overheated system, but from physical exertion or unadulterated aggression unbeknownst. His optics gleamed purple as it caught the slightest motion in a corner, and almost simultaneously powered his arm-mounted fusion cannon to blast a smeltering hole over the pile of debris to reveal the sight of a trembling Straxus still frozen slack-jawed at the attack, too deeply set in shock to form any coherent response other than batting his optical ridge frantically at the sight of unholy destruction previously transpired, sparing him from suffering the same fate of melted slag and repurposed steel only by a few mechano nanometres.

"Not the coward I was expecting, but it would seem like my aim was off-centered. Perhaps a training session is in order?" Megatron taunted empty air, his cannon never once diverging from the tankformer's direction glowed purple as it was primed for a second blast. The mech in question stared hopelessly at the barrel of the instrument of death, his peds unwilling to budge as he counted down until his own gory deactivation. Suddenly a red servo shot out and grabbed hold of the cannon while its owner struggled with all remaining might to push it away, predictably, to little avail. What it did achieve, however, was Megatron's snort and his short attention span. He addressed the mech with a strong backservo from the same arm-mounted cannon, Orion's helm snapped like a fragile ornament as it received the other end of the blunt trauma.

"You leave the both of them alone! Your problem is with me!" A figure emerged from the dust, his white paintjob glimmering spotless despite the filth and disarray surrounding, his red chevron a beacon of attraction in the sea of indistinguishable concrete and metal rubble, drawing Megatron's optic sight to him in an instance. Orion was dropped to the ground in an unceremonious flop, coughing up Energon like a malfunctioning dispenser while the targetted tankformer still remained frozen in his own world of fear, yet to reacquaint to the transpiring reality.

"Look who it is. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Megatron snarled, antagony rolling off him in waves of unrestrained emotion, assaulting the Matrix bearer's EM field scanner with fresh-hot, searing mental pain. Unbeknownst to either, the medic was unsubspacing a data slug behind his backstrut, movements carefully cultivated to be as discreet and subtle as possible so as not to raise any awareness, to which he succeeded seamlessly. Mentally praising himself, he put on a bravado for the audience's, namely Megatron's, sake.

"So, Dark Energon infusion. I should have known, with all that personality bipolar you had going on. Am I safe to assume this persona we are talking to is not our Megatron?"

"Oh, I am still Megatron, the one and only. But not the pathetic weakling whom you are refering to, for that was but a mere shadow of my potential greatness. I am but a more completed, experienced, and superior version of that one whom you called Megatron. I am Megatronus!" He made long strides across the explosion-torn command hub, stepping over rubbles and trambling them to crumbles under his weight as if they were oversized crust bars. "Say, did you even bother to bat an optical ridge about my abduction? Did you know what in smolten pit have I had to endure while you and my so-called soulmate scurried away to preserve your own afterburners?"

"Pardon me my ignorance, for I was too preoccupied with rallying a disarrayed faction, uniting followers that _you_ should be leading, had you not been too busy building another entourage of mindless brutes. So, do enlighten me." Ratchet spat, his optics scanning over Orion's immoblie form on the ground. The pooling Energon puddle around his abdominal plating predisposed not a positive visionary, as Ratchet speculated a minimum of three vital arteries ruptured and a major hydraulic unhinged from an inconclusive inspection. He required instant medical care, and Ratchet was the only one he could provide such. Unfortunately, between he and his patient stood a ten-mechano-foot tall gladiator who was very pissed at the both of them.

"You think I won those soldiers' allegience through petty words and empty promises? I fought, for three fragging vorns in the Pits of Kaon! I was inflected with life and death injuries on a daily basis, so much that my pain grid barely registered a multilated appendage anymore than it does a blotch of chipped paint nanites! I fought for my own life! And I certainly made sure to come out of each alive, regardless of how many enemies would I have to slaughter under my very own servos, because I will survive. And I did." With each exclamation he blew a hole in the spot occupied by Ratchet few nanoklicks prior to his evasive maneuvers, the mech constantly jumping on his peds to avoid earning a helm-sized hollow in his spark chamber. His optics darting around the room for any exploitable weakness, but dust and rubble persisted as far as the night vision could envision.

"And so this lunatic behaviour is to be blamed on traumatic past experience? Sounds a lot like a byproduct of disassociated identity disorder to me."

"If that really was true, then this is who I wish to be. I was hardened, toughened, forged by flames and reinforced by hardship. I am no longer that desperate lost soul back in the early cycles, so crush your illusionary hopes before I do." Megatron made a blind grasp for the fleeting medic who dodged out of the way just in time, his paintjob grazing the tip of Megatron's sharp talons, reminding him of how quickly the battle would end before it had even started if he just allowed the larger mech a hold of his slim, fragile frame. Suddenly reimbursed with an immence determination, he made pulled impossible stunt and threw himself overhelm the mech, riffle unsubspaced to release two short bursts on the vulnerable neck plating, before landing on all four peds and rolling gracefully to a full halt by Orion's side. To his own dismay, Megatron's plating was barely scratched as the mech let out a lengthy fit of lunatic laughter, his optics glinting purple, fascinated at the challenge of facing off a competent opponent.

"The timid medic had finally grown some thorns, how adorable. Let's see how he would fend off a real adversary!" Megatron charged at him in a straight bee-line, bellowing a thunderous battle cry while a steel mace was unsubspaced and raised high above helm, brandished to be brought down at the unsuspecting medic's slim frame while he was tending to Orion's punctuated fuel tank. Rather than slicing clean through white chestplate, the melee instrument impacted against a large metal crane, its reinforced titanium blocking the blow and returning as much force as it received, knocking the offensive straight off his peds and skidding a few metres on the debris-laden ground, sharp metal fragmentations impaling his frame mercilessly with an audio receptor-ailing screech. From within the shadow, a mono shine of red optic light flickered as its owner observed the sprawled frame on the ground with disinterest, his features illuminated dimly, though abundantly clear to be discernible to a squirming Orion from any distance.

"Shockwave!" He exclaimed, vocalizer failing to accomplish anything further than gawking out unintelligible mumurs. The mech in question turned his helm at Orion's direction to regard him briefly, mono optic still unexpressive of any emotion when he systematically addressed the injured mech. "I shall deal with you intruders later." Taking that as a cue, Ratchet unsubspaced his laser scapel and began wielding shut every leakage on Orion's abused abdominal plating despite the mech's apparent disconsent as his medical training kicked in, his servos working away at admirable speed bringing the mech's critical status down into a superficial debility. As the surrounding world faded into a negligible distraction, his observative perception failed to notice the image of a black and white mech reacquiring consciousness on a flipped monitor panel behind Orion, every processing circuitry temporarily inactive to make space for hydraulic memory and vorns of medical apprenticeship to take over.

"As for now," Shockwave returned his sole attention onto an enraged Megatron who was audibly growling as he tried to regain a sitting position, "Subject #MG2 requires neutralization." The mech made initial to move outside his bubble of dust and rubble masquerade, arm cannon primed and loaded, glowing Dark Energon with an identical pattern to Megatron's own's, who was also imitating his gesture as the mech stood to his peds, denta bared and a vicious snear dominating his features. Meeting the inexpressive faceplate with his own unyielding stance, the gladiator's optics gleamed with an otherworldly aura in defiance.

"Well then, I would love to see you try. Bring it on!"

* * *

[System failure: log #4386]

[Reboot: initiated]

[Diagnosis: processor overload]

Dismissing every notification, Prowl sat up painstakingly slow for fear of inflicting more pain on his abused helm, still mentally shaking and shivering in disorientation while his gravitational gyros burnt extra Energon to reacquire any semblance of balance. Not for another three breems and countless spasms did he finally regain enough sensual awareness to actually pay any attention to his surrounding. At first, the visual relay of a strange and unfamiliar room unsettled his fuel tank and he had to hold himself back from purging all over the nearest surface to restart the cycle he had been repeating for the last three torturous breems, but when the distinctive blue navy paint scheme of the mech Soundwave reappeared over the horizon of nausea and brought back calmness did he stop dry-humping. Taking a second assessment of the room, he made out tiny splinters of broken glass littering the floor, alongside with a few shattered monitor screens and a bulky console lying in a disfigured pile, their metal surface completely smolten and melted to reveal messy chemical compounds, a result of erosion caused by a heavy acidic solution, and by the stain of a green slick liquid still dripping from one of its sizzling edge, his best deduction would be spoiled Energon, more specifically the type produced by an inverted filter from an Energon distiller. His and Soundwave's handiwork, in other words.

Just as his predictive sensors had warned, he ducked to the right just in time to avoid becoming the next pile of smolten slag as a damaged tube in the waste disposal system overhelm gave out and released a splash of freshly spoiled Energon right the spot where he was occupying mere astroklicks ago, reducing the floor to an empty vacant and liquifying anything that was unfortunate enough to be in its place. Shrugging off a shiver across his backstrut, Prowl made motion to stand up, despite his malfunctioning motor cortex and a loudly-complaining knee-joint still creaking from disuse, managed to strike an upright pose somewhat. Out of the corner of an optic, he noticed a flashing source of light and made for it. Upon nearing, the source brightened in clarity though dimmed in intensity with each flicker on and off, a certain indication of the apparent energy shortage; the equipment was depleting whatever reserve back-up it had, and that source was not going to last much longer. Quicken his pace, Prowl aproached the screen, silently calculating the probabilities, or rather a lack thereof, that such a random found would be of any aid to his getaway.

To his own astonishment, the equipment was still functional enough to display its most fundamental interface, which fortunately happened to be one of a remote control to activate an emergency pod. Just as Prowl was about to engage stand-by protocol, the gadget flicked off entirely, its battery reserve drained to an end; the black glass panel now transparent and reflective, showing two cerulean optics as Prowl stared down at his own frustrated faceplate. With a non-committal growl, he subspaced the item to look for an Energy source, his first option eliminated completely by a warning inside his HUD.

[Warning: Energon level 3%]

[Emergency stasis: imminent]

[ETA: 28 klicks]

Barely a breem left until he would succumb. The chief Enforcement officer, the one commander on Cybertron who reported to no one else but himself, the mech whose everycycle occupation was to hand out deadlines to other mecha, now had a deadline. Prowl wasn't a mech with much of a taste for humour, but even so he would have snorted at the irony had the situation at servo not called for strict reservation; the energy it took for vocalizing a laughter was an unaffordable luxury. Every nanoklicks passing was a wasted drop of Energon in his empty fuel tank, and he needed to act fast. The time for idle was no more, and Prowl made every use of his hyperspeed processor to analyze any possible energy outlet.

[Energon system: corrupted, spoiled Energon 100% unusable]

[Salvage equipments to retrieve back-up energy source: 78% risk of equipment's integrity compromised from spoiled Energon. 34.6% chance of combustion if dismembered without following proper procedures. 17.3% likelihood energy source enough to power remote control]

Too high a risk to be considered a plausible alternative. Prowl swept his scanner to another direction of the bulldozed room.

[Energon system- _dismissed_

Prowl would usually be thorough with any evaluation rather than skipping a replicated calculation, but his chronometer, which displayed 19 klicks until imminent stasis, convinced otherwise, leaving no space for argument if he still valued his life.

[Salvage- _dismissed_

He was frustrated with the energy spent excessively to run these fruitless analysis, each notification bringing his reserve down a notch without any actual progress. The flashing digits were reduced from plural to singular, signifying less than 10 klicks until he would join the blissful world of ignorance, and very likely also the world of deactivation under the servos of corrosion in this Unicron-forsaken experiment facility out of nowhere. The renewed surge of survival instinct had him turn off the energy draining processor add-on, the mech prefered surviving mindless than deactivating fully awared of his surrounding.

[Suggestion- _dismissed_

Prowl re-examined his internal HUD. Strange. His processor was still offlined, and subsequently the tactical planner. Yet the suggestion rang loud and audible inside his helm.

[Suggestion- _dismissed_

The tactician checked his energy level to see the same number 9 from previous, an evidence his processor hadn't drained another volt of electricity from his frame, hence its inactivity. Yet, the suggestion boggled his inquisitive mind; it was almost as if it didn't originate from his processor.

[Suggestion- _dismissed_

Prowl recognized the sensation from his memory databanks. It was somewhat intruding, like a telepathic tendril squirming inside his helm, desperate to gain his attention. It was almost as if-

Everything dawned on him like a late, but glorious nontheless sunset.

Turning around in the mech's direction with a momentum too fast he could literally taste his own afterburners on his olfactory sensors, Prowl sprinted to the navy mech lying facedown in a pile on the ground the same spot he recovered from less than a joor ago. Kneeling down to reach the mech, Prowl hefted him over his backstrut to reveal badly damaged abdominal plating, his carrier model's distinctive spark chamber placement a fatal feature as his spark chamber was exposed, cover scratched and revealing a glowing blue orb inside the place where a normal mech's fuel tank should be occupying. The orb was dimming in intensity; the mech had not much time left. His entire frame was in terribly bad shape, and Prowl couldn't help but express a grimace on his faceplate when he observed each and every injury in greater detail, specifically the hole in his abdominal plating.

 _Suggestion: replace remote control's energy core with my own._

The mech's thunderous presence took him by surprise. Granted, even without functional optics or audio receptors, he could still gather the surrounding world though Prowl's own, courtesy of his telepathic ability. Yet, what really bothered him wasn't the mech's comprehension of the situation, but rather his willingness to sacrifice. The spark was flickering dangerously close to distinguishment, the mech's life was barely being sustained, and he asked for his only energy source to be removed? Prowl, for the first time in his long life of existence, stood frozen like a cadet on his first cycle of enrollment.

 _Retrieve it. Activate the escape pod. Both of our reserves are draining by the nanoklicks._

The mech was right. Simultaneously, his energy indicator flashed red alarm at the critical 5 klicks available. Reminded of their slim chance of survival, the mech made haste to remove the broken glass cockpit of the mech to reach his energy core deeply compartmentalized within his carrier chamber.

 _Don't leave me here._

As Prowl severed the last string connected to the mech's neutral relay, his telepathic presence immediately dissipated, leaving an empty vacant where the last plead rang out in ethereal echo. Without a second glance, he installed the core into the remote control, powering the device online. With a push of a button, it radiated with a low frequency, activating a rumble somewhere beneath layers of rubble and debris. All of a sudden, the entire ground shifted and ripped apart to reveal the slim form of an escape pod, its titanium cover intact from all the seismic reverberation or acidic spoiled Energon. The cover popped open, and without further ado, he climbed in.

Syncing his emergency Enforcer badge's S.O.S signal with the ship's navigator autopilot, Prowl let out a huff of air in relief when his internal countdown popped a warning of an Energon-shortage-induced stasis in less than 60 nanoklicks. As the cockpit closed up and the escape pod powered its thrusters, Prowl chanced a look outside of the glass viewport-

-to his own horror, to recognize the navy blue form of a mech still laying prune and immobile on the ground, deprioritized by his survival programming. Grasping vainly at the glass cockpit now firmly locked in place with his scratched servotips, Prowl watched helplessly as the mech's image shrunk while the pod was making its ascend, each passing nanoklick more torturous than the previous as it secured the fate of the forgotten mech in the vice grip of certain deactivation. Even when the frame was barely more than a blur spot, he kept staring helplessly until his vision fritzed into but a static screen and audio receptors failed to register anything other than the distant hum and vibration of the pod's thrusters, before blissful ignorance washed over his existence to rub away at all the accumulating guilt leadening his conscience.

* * *

All in all, the battle ended rather abruptly and unexpectedly, none of the participants anticipating it as an even plausible possibility.

One nanoklick prior, Shockwave was unleashing rounds after rounds of relentless plasma bursts at Megatron's steady cover, the outer titanium surface already damaged enough to reveal unfortified steel infrastructure nestled within. The mech was pinned down, and while his cover was slowly decaying, every spectators had assumed certain victory for the mono-optical scientist.

Yet, a sudden factor had contributed vastly to the outcome of the battle, one no mech was looking out for, one that took them all off-guard.

Straxus, the same tankformer who had been cowarding behind Ratchet's backstrut just a few breems ago, was had stood proudly in the direct firing line of Shockwave's Dark Energon-infused cannon. Never a mech to waste valuable resource as logic would dictate, the mech paid the obstacle no mind while he maneuvered aside in a lateral sidestep, firing stream never once ceasing or faltering. Hence, he also made his most costly mistake of underestimating the mech for his lack of mental capability. Raising his heavy dual tank cannons, the mech unloaded a tachyon blast at Shockwave's seismic-based force field, successfully compromising its invulnerability mechanism with an attack faster than the speed of sound, imploding the barrier with the mech still inside. The explosion was rather anti-climatic, most of the trauma of the implosion reabsorbed and dissipated within the proximity of the barrier, displaying on the outside as nothing more than a lightshow exhibition and a deep, muffled rumble.

When the light finally died out, all that was left of the purple mech was a sparking protoform, disfigured beyond identification, cover plating either totally evaporated or liquified from the extreme heat and energy emission. Yet, his mono-optical faceplate remained intact for some reason, an entanglement of wirings and cords still holding on stubbornly to a no longer existent frame, twitching to and fro from the after effect of electricity discharge. Precipitously, the optic flashed online, radiating a faint glow of deep red, freaking all present mecha – including Megatron himself – to a jolt as its lenses focused on each and every faceplate, as if the mech was still alive and _looking_ at them through his dismembered optic.

Before Orion could vociferate his dismay and horror, the force barrier had dissolved to thin air with an audible pop, returning the demised frame of the scientist to gravity's overpowering hold as it was dropped lifelessly down on the ground. The red optic was still flashing despite the apparent lack of an energy source, and conquered by his own curiousity Ratchet left Orion's stabilized side to inspect the frame in closer detail. Digging and prying around the pile of smolten components for a while, the medic eventually succeed in recovering a slender, attenuated transmitter from the degrading frame.

Solemnly, the medic declared his sypnosis. "This is not a Cybertronian frame, nor did it house the essence of an actual spark. This equipment is an antenna for remote command transmission, directly installed inside the automaton's motor cortex. The Shockwave you had just engaged was merely a replica of him, stringed down to the very smallest motion of movement or speech pattern."

Eery silence washed over the entire room while every mech was trying to comprehend the newest fact, not even the slightest mechanical hum of an engine cooling or a fuel tank pumping breaking the tranquility. The silence was so tangible and palpable it could almost be cut with a dull blade like hot knife over rust stick.

"Slag it!"

Straxus let out a loud vent, taking out his frustration by decimating a nearby debris with his dual cannons, filling the claustrophobic room with smoke and dust blinding optical sight. Yet, the mech still wasn't satisfied, for his aggravation rang out uninterrupted.

"I've been dreading to end that mech with my own servos since the first cycle I was put inside that damp, rusty, stinking Unicron-forsaken mine! I was taken away from my family and put to labour at a premature age, then watch them brutally murdered in cold Energon in front of my very optics for not meeting miners' minimum requirement of size and physical strength. I vowed that very cycle to not rest until he is deactivated, and yet I slipped just when he was within my reach!" He exploded in a fit of unrestrained anger, each accusation accompanied with a fist impacting on the hard surface of the ground, indenting a hole behind every enraged vent. By the end of the short speech, his knuckles were tainted with the blue glow of bleeding Energon. Too deeply engrossed within his own self criticizing had the mech not realized when Megatron had discreetly crept up right behind until a clawed servo and long silver talons were tenderly rested on his shoulder plate.

"I understand the sentiments exactly, soldier and fellow miner, for I share the same hatred for my captors. Yet, I have already made sure to make them pay dearly for their sins, and so could you, if you so choose to join me and my army." He drawled his words into long, broken syllables as if offering a vocal invitation, to which the emotionally vulnerable mech was swayed heavily against.

"No! Don't listen to him! Killing Shockwave won't bring back your family member, nor will it accomplish any difference! You are not a killer. You are an Autobot, and we Autobot fight for justice and freedom of our kind, not just overthrowing a tyrant for another. Help us save our planet not by joining a war, but by being a solution to it. Stand true to the Autobot cause!"

"A war had already been bloomed. Choose wisely soldier, be with the history, or be against it. Be the victor, or be the defeated. Your choice can either be your own befall, or your lifechanger. Make your decision, for one cannot serve two masters, just as a forest cannot house two lions." Megatron warned, his talons caressing dangerously close to the tankformer's delicate neck circuitry in an unspoken threat.

"Remember why you are fighting this fight! Remember your true nature! Your purpose! Your cause!" Orion called out in a desperate last attempt, but his words fell over deaf audio receptors.

"I fight for _vengence_."

In the next fraction of a nanoklick, everything transpired too fast for the normal optic to trace. Megatron, only awaiting those magical words, instantly unleashed a devastating cannon blow at Orion's limb frame, abrogating their short period of peaceful truce and restarted the full heat of the battle. Ratchet, who had been uninstalling Shockwave's force field generator during their entire conversation, with all of his graceful agility made for Orion and activated the protective sphere around them, the shot bouncing off harmlessly and reflected back at the ceiling where the rest of the waste disposal system remained. The immense force of the shot alone, combined with the ignitability of spoiled Energon and Dark Energon made for an explosion gigantic and horrendous enough to put the Big Bang theory to shame, collapsing the entire ceiling above them and burying them alive under mechano tonnes of steel and titanium. As Orion offlined, the last image his processor relayed was the scurrying form of Megatron and Straxus, before his optics darkened completely.

* * *

::Chief! Where are you going?:: A cadet commed his superior officer, bewildered at the mech's disappearance despite their timely arrival of only less than 3 joors ago. After receiving an emergency escape pod with their MIA Chief Officer in emergency stasis, they barely had the time to perform basic repair and refuel the mech to operational energy level before the commander forcefully insisted they return to the research facility hidden deep underground in the Sea of Rust. They encountered a large explosion upon arrival, fortunately with no casualties, though the newly designated and recently missing Prime was found in critical condition underneath collapsed tunnelways along with his associative personal medic. It took nearly a full breem of persistent labour to clear the debris enough to retrieve their frames, and to everyone's relief were still in full integrity. Yet, his commanding officer was nowhere to be found, and he was just about to send a second message when a response popped up in his inbox.

::Prime crime scene is properly secured in accordance with standard procedures. Sector #21 of facility in fragile condition. Requires delicate inspection.:: Prowl composed a short reply, never once faltering in his peds. It had taken him blending in with the camaderary for long enough to at least give a satisfactory performance at his job and position as the chief Enforcer, and those same replicating procedures never seemed as time-consuming or excessive to a strictly-standard mech. As it was, Prowl's fuel tank was lurching upside down with freshly supplied Energon in anxiety and anticipation. He had snuck away at the first possible opportunity, very uncharacteristic of a mech of his meticulousness and attentiveness to detail, but with the guilt and iniquity consuming his conscience like a predator devouring its pray slowly and painfully in pieces, he couldn't get away quick enough. Making progress this far, he would certainly let nothing impede his peds any longer.

::But sir, the Prime is injured and requires escort-

::Then organize one. If there is none other matter with enough severity that requires my direct involvement, please refrain from disturbing me.:: He curtly cut off his comm channel, exasperated with the cadet's inexperience and insecurity, a trait he himself had purposefully instilled in the mech with how careless and sloppy the Enforcer unit would operate under his lead without Prowl's advisory guidance. On every average cycle, he would stick with the mech and oversee their every activities until completion, and the mech considered to be his second-in-line would never have to actually bat an optical ridge at any difficulties transpiring, let alone give a coherent command. As of current, Prowl prayed the mech would take the hint and stop bothering him more than he actually worried about the mech clumsily destroying crime scene evidence, however; his target was just too crucial for him to be distracted by anything else at the moment.

Blessed silence flooded his processor again, allowing raging turbulence of disgrunted thoughts and misformed predictions to obscure any free empty space. Activating his tactical booster, the mech was met with a flux of constantly varying alternatives, yet despite numerical calculations they all bore a common outcome, one melancholic enough to throw off the stoic and composed demeanor of the mech into a fit of disarrayed emotions and unfounded concerns. Reimbursed with a newfound vigor, Prowl hurried his steps until he was practically trodding upon arrival of the desired complex of the facility. Yet, within a first glance of the tathered room, his processor almost gave out as it fritzed dangerously close to overheating, every logic circuits fried to an indistinguishable mess as they failed to unravel the mystery at servo.

The command hub was empty.

Refusing to give up, Prowl began to search by himself. He lifted heavy debris, detonated piles of rubble and deploying scout drones to swarm every possible creak and crevice of the destroyed quarter, expanding his search radius gradually until the entire facility was covered ceiling to floor in yellow Enforcer's restraining cordon and even the smallest of dust particles displayed signs of tampering. After a while, the entire platoon of Enforcer was enlisted to offer any possible assistance they could to the implausible task, despite Prowl's original distaste of their inattentive observation as desperation overwhelmed his common sense. Yet, dismissing every deduction concocted by his tactical planner, Prowl knew deep down that the search was futile, and that the mech was never to be found regardless of how many fruitless joors of empty search conducted.

So, at the end of the next twentieth cycle of relentless searching, Prowl gave the official order to cease any and all search parties still in activity. The facility had long been reduced to nothing more than a smolten pile of rubble and debris indiscernible, and all Prowl could collect was a tiny packet of chipped navy paint nanites. The telepathic mech himself was never to be found.

Little did he know, the very mistake he made that cycle of abandoning the mech was the key factor deciding the main course of history for Cybertron and the Great War itself, securing both of their fates in destiny's relentless hold, a grip not to be relinquished for a very long time afterwards.


	35. Chapter 4 - Part 23

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for my OC, plot, ideas, etc, nor do I profit from anything.

* * *

PART 23 ~ FINAL  
#Decepticons

A full stellarcycle had past since the great showdown. In spite of his non-consensual protest, Orion had been hospitalized for the entirety 11 megacycles of the time, his injuries not really as severe, though his mantle as Prime demanded further attention to aesthetic details rather than practicality. The moment he was officially discharged from extensive medical care, the Prime had been publicly apprehended with severe questioning sessions, led by none other than the Enforcer Prowl and a few Senators and Councilmecha. As diplomatic and prudent as he could muster, Orion disclosed as much information as possible without providing any loopholes for fear of discrepancy, which would only result in more interrogation. The Matrix proved to be a valuable asset, its intel and wisdom accredited to his own discretion, and with a natural gift for words from his Archivist expertise, Orion had secured his way out of any allegation about duty negligence or prestige malpractice in stride, quick to return to the citizens of Cybertron in a welcoming embrace and winning his position in their sparks as their well-spoken leader, his lack of an official coronation nevertheless ignored. Soon, he was once again the proud leader of the Autobot faction, his spotless reputation as Orion elevated by the Prime mantle epitomized perfection and leadership as it influenced millions to heed the great call, their number multiplying thousandfold, from an underground militia to an actual army of peace-loving mecha all across Cybertron. It was rumoured that the Autobots had overiden the Council and Senate themselves, and that the planet would soon evolve into a communism society led by none other than the Prime himself.

Yet, from the opposite polar of the planet, Kaon symmetrically matched Iacon in every considerable aspects, from the great army it was gathering to the fearless leader. Megatron had been recruiting mecha relentlessly cycle and off-cycle alike, spectators from his gladiator matches gladly approving of the mech's revolutional idealism. Nation by nation, city state after one another, Megatron conquered every land with his growing army, leaving mecha with no other option than to join him in his crusade. With each fallen city came an even larger, battle-competent army of Decepticons, and in a flash of the optic not much aside from Iacon was still standing. The Decepticon giant army was equally matched, if not even superior, to the Autobot's rising own. And Megatron was determined to eliminate anything detrimental to his own ego.

Soon came the cycle for the imminent showdown that no force of nature could impede. Catching wind of this inevitable outcome, as a protection measure, Iacon was installed with impenetrable energy barrier along its peripheral limit. Yet, the Councilmecha and Senators themselves had vastly underestimated Megatron when they failed to account for a strategic approach to be launched by the presumably mindless brute.

By the earliest dawn of sunlight, an acid rain poured destructive torrent down on the planet's surface, its source of climatic anomaly as undetected and inexplicable as its unforeseen occurrence. Though most of the surface of the planet had been protected by a magnetic field generated specifically to combat such phenomenon, certain city states rising too high above the stratosphere was still suceptible to any extra terrestrial attack. Iacon was the prime target for such a frontal assault, a flurry of space capsules and transport dropships launching at light speed surpassed the atmosphere and burning up the early dawn sky in strides of colourful shades of red and orange. Crashing in the unguarded outskirt with a ground-shattering rumble, the armada of Decepticon soldiers were quick on their peds, moving as a synchronized unit, their direction remained persistent and unwavering for the tallest tower of Cybertron, the main command centre where every members of the Council board and Senate was resting blissfully unaware, deep in recharge.

Not as ignorant, the Prime's army had already been alarmed ahead of the incoming squadron. Deploying every available unit to tactical position, Orion led the greatest concentration of their numbers to the gate of Iacon, every follower as dedicated to the cause as they were ambitious of equality and freedom for the Cybertronian race. Allowing loyalty to fuel their courage, the mecha stepped forward, matching speed for speed with the invaders despite their lack of combat expertise or battle experience.

Reaching a halt, the two factions stood their ground. This very cycle, the city state of Iacon witnessed one of the greatest battle to ever go down in Cybertronian history, its intensity only matched by a few of those in the Great War itself. From across the field stood Orion and his army, beyond the barrier perimeter of city limits were Megatron and his. As the two stared down vehemently, their optics conveyed message unfathomable by anyone else.

"Through various course of actions of the past few decacycles, you have proven that you are no longer the Megatron I know. I have made the costly mistake of blindly instilling false trust in myself and my closest ones, allowing them to get hurt. This time will be different, as I won't hesitate to do what is required. For the safety of my significant other, fatal injuries may not be an option, and as so no lasting damage would be inflicted during your incarceration. But make no misassumption; I will stop at nothing to to get my Megatron back." Orion spoke in hardened tone, the presence of the Thirteenth Prime in him ever tangible beneath the boling rage, fueled by the unision of thousands of mecha behind him heeding his call.

"That entitlement of Prime served you well, considering how mature and authoritative you have grown. Yet, you seemed to have forgotten your position too quickly; if it hadn't been for me you would have never even dreamt of being where you are right now. Prime or not, the role of leadership rightfully belonged to ME, and Cybertron can only have one leader. So, either surrender to my will, or BE ERADICATED!" The mech bellowed in response. His mecha roared and the crowd exploded into a rhythmic chant, matching his sentiments with anger and aggresion of their own.

"Stop this insanity this instance! I never lied to you about our relationship, it was the greatest gift you granted me, which I held dearly, and I can only hope that in time, you would recognize it for what it's worth. I took the blame for abandoning you back then, for not finding and rescuing you from the gladiator's hold. But I did not ask for the status of Prime!" He exclaimed, frustrated at the stubborn mech.

"How easy for you to say, now that you've become the most envied mech on Cybertron, the proud bearer of the Matrix of Leadership, and the power of bending an entire planet to your will. Soon, these mecha will realize that you are nothing but a mere fraud! And then, I will make sure that they pay dearly for trusting _you_ , for standing on the wrong side of history. They shall be given no mercy as my army acquire victorious triumph, and as the weaklings as they are, shall be crushed and trampled under the peds of true, relentless warriors!" At the mention of carnage and slaughter, the contingent expressed their anticipation with loud holler and soaring battle cry, creating an imposing presence menacing to even the bravest of fighters.

"You have been too lost in your illusion, Megatron! The real Megatron I know - the mech who treasured my affection just as much as I cherished himself, the very founder of Autobot with me when we vowed to fight for peace, freedom and equality – that mech would be ashamed to see you not even resembling a mere shadow of himself. As cruel and unforgiving as brutality and barbarism could transform a mech, this misdeed is your doing all along. I cannot, and will not stand for this atrocity, not even for you. _One shall stand, and one shall fall!_ " Orion solemnly swore.

"Suit yourself, _Prime_." He spat with venomous distaste, extra emphasis placed on the entitlement of the mech. "But before you rush your own army to total annihilation, answer me this one last question. _Why throw away your life so recklessly_?" He smirked, arrogance slowly slipping away from the snarky comment to reveal an intrigued and fascinated Megatron, his optics glinting dark magenta in excitement of battle and destruction. The prospect of facing off Orion, now augmented with the essence of the Primes and physically reformatted into a formidable opponent, tingled at his twitchy talons. Striking a low pose, the two leaders locked optics for the last civil nanoklick, a short truce before the war.

As the first drop of acid impaled through the overloaded magnetic field to precipitate on the ground in a sizzling puddle, the battle begun. The two factions collapsed into a mess of disarrayed chaos, each mech for himself as everyone's first priority was to ensure their own life. Autobots and Decepticons alike, mecha were battling blindly, the small insignia branded on their shoulders forgotten as the heat of the battle brushed aside allegiance or cause to leave behind a vigorous sense of survival. Heavy frontliners rushed to each other in their charge, shields and spears clashing in mighty heave as their yielder combatted in a showcase of strength and durability. From higher above the stratosphere, Decepticons seekers engaged any unsuspecting target in a flurry of laser fire and heat-seeking missiles, battle prowess and flight dexterity unparalleled with each complicated maneuver marvellously executed in perfect synchronization, recreating the deadly aerial dance Vosian flyers were most infamous for. As swift and agile as they could be in air, any Seeker removed from his element was a flightless Seeker, as proved by the Autobots sharpshooter when their crosshair brush a fatal stroke on the flyers' fuselage, effectively grounding them in a fiery combustion. While the main force of the two armies were bringing the heat, heavy tankformers unleashed their destructive combined firepower to the chaos, setting the cityside ablaze. Smaller units were scurrying here and there in their haste to deliver instant supply of ammo and provide medical attention, their smaller frame and harmless stature a useful feature as it camouflaged them to blend in seamlessly among the dull grey of metal and smoke.

Leading a small squad of field medics, Ratchet sped across the battlefield in a blur to arrive at the side of a downed Autobot soldier. His servos working away at lightning speed to wield shut any major leakage and prevent the Energon flow from bleeding too much vital life-giving substance. An assistant beside him was up in his audio receptors with rewiring the mech's neural pathway to tranquilize the mech out of commision, flanked by two other apprentices attempting to correct the sprained hydraulic pump at his ped. A carefully-placed sniper shot from a Decepticon sharpshooter splattered the bigger of the two's processor onto Ratchet's back as the unfortunate medic dropped to the ground in an audible thud, his optics darkened instantly as the mech was deactivated right on spot. Barely having any time to react, he dogded just as a red crosshair registered on his optical relay, narrowly missing the bullet aimed for his helm in a fraction of an astroklick. Without preamble, he unsubspaced his own blaster and released a full round at the incoming direction, his shot rang loud and true when the mech let out a pained cry, his servos displaced from the elbow joint downward with surgical precision, effectively disarming the mech while inflicting minimal damage. Yet to give up on his failed assault attempt, the mech equipped a melee weapon with the other servo and made for the white medic in a vengeful sprint, but was stopped short in his track as he bumped into the red bulky form of a vanformer, who remained unbudged while the blocked parry knocked him several yards backward. The royal guard Ironhide closed in on his lying sprawled form, optics flashing blue with cold murder the last thing he ever saw, before large calloused palms took a firm grab on his frame and he felt his own lower half being forcefully yanked apart from the rest, filling his HUD with various error notifications while vital fluids splashed everywhere across red plating, until oblivion overtook his consciousness forever.

Swiping away Energon from his chestplate, Ironhide dropped the dismembered pieces of the Decepticon on the ground before setting a ped on the helm, crushing it with a satisfying crunch under his weight. Yet to fully recover from the execution, he was completely taken off-guard when a hammer pounded on his backstrut, tremendous force breaking external armor and embedding its fragments deep into motor wirings despite the blunt edge of the instrument. Temporarily crippled and paralyzed, the mech crumbled to the ground face-first, vulnerable and helpless to defend himself as the other raised his hammer high in the air once again, this time aiming for the helm. In the split-nanoklick before his own deactivation, the Royal guard took in his surrounding to see Autobot soldiers being dismantled and trampled under the peds of stronger Decepticons, their lack of combat expertise or battle experience their own downfall as the Autobot army was falling by the hundreds. Even the seasoned warriors of his ranks in the Royal guard was vastly outnumbered and outmatched, for they weren't compatible with neither direct frontal assault nor mixed warfare as much as their fluency lengthened in close proximity servo-to-servo. As their current predicament was, the war was going to end soon with the favors against their side, and while no one could come to his aid at the moment, the mech came to a reluctant acceptance of his fate of utter demise, taking solace in the fact that at least he got to avenge Ratchet beforehand.

What escaped his speculation, however, was the timely appearance of the Enforcer Prowl unloading several rounds of acid pellets at his aggressor, spoiling his attack to buy him enough time to regain motor function and roll out of the way, taking only the excessive resonance of the blow on his heavily-armored front rather than its full extension on his helm. Wasting no time, the mech flipped himself upright and straight to face off the Decepticon, whose familiar identity confirmed his instinctive prediction. With worsening corrosion adorning his faceplate, Straxus charged at his ex-superior officer, battle hammer primed and poised, but this time was met with dual resistance from both the Royal guard and the Enforcer blocking his strike with their parry, combined equilibium disorienting his, and the mech swerved shakily until he staggered down a deep crevice newly emerged as the acid rain ate away at metal relentlessly had created not so long ago.

Across the entire battlefield, Enforcers had joined in the battle against Decepticon invaders, their contribution an equal force to the Decepticon's cruelty. In the face of prospective victory and an actual chance of winning, the Autobots hit with renewed zeal, their unity and determination compensating for battle prowess, evening the odds. As the fragile balance was tipped off with each insignificant blunder, mecha were forced to fight dentas and claws for the sake of their own lives and their cause, massacred and slaughtered their own brothers and sisters without any regard to brutality or mercy. The heat of the battle was in full swing, and centered within its midst, Orion was experiencing the thrill of the kill. Swinging around gracefully with his improved battle axe, the mech decapitated a number of frontliners surrounding him, their helms dropping to the ground a nanoklick before their frames followed. Hardly allowed any break, the mech made a sprint for the nearest tankformer unleashing his ammo on the defenseless Autobot army, running his axe straight through his spark chamber and distinguishing his life force, dual cannons still fully charged for the next shot relented from his servos' grip as the mech was deactivated almost instantly. Taking advantage of the discarded weapon, Orion pried it from the mech's greying-out servo and integrated into his automatic aiming system, before discharging a devastating blow to the nearest platoon of incoming Seekers, grounding them in a sequence of chained explosion. A second shot from his cannon, and an entire squadron of unsuspecting Decepticon sharpshooters were removed from active battle, their vantage position of an overiden Sentry tower reduced to rubble and smoke. About to make his third shot, Orion's HUD was obscured with several notifications of the weapon draining his Energon reserve, even reformatted Prime-grade fuel tank not commensurate with an actual tank cannon's enornous energy burn. Heeding the Matrix's fluttering impulse to dispose of the weapon and preserve what's left of his tank, Orion threw the bulging firearm at a group of approaching ground soldiers, unleashed a full round of plasma on its combustible fuselage still in its graceful arch mid-air, before speeding away in alt-mode just in the nick of time to escape tendrils of flame heating up his afterburners, the remnants of the unfortunate Decepticons splattered blue Energon across his windscreen and cargo trunk.

Yet to determine his direction, Orion drove blindly at the targetted Senate Tower where the main concentration of mecha both allies and enemies alike registered on his radar like turbobees crowding a cyberhive, engaging with such berserk ferocity as the Autobots established their last line of defense against immense enemy assault. Even from afar, the glinting silver armor of his counterpart stood out brightest, dull colour made vibrant as it adapted different shades of fluids from enemies it had slaughtered, from the glowing blue of Energon to the white coolant and yellow lubricant, overcoated with a layer of acid green seemingly harmless to the ex-gladiator's metallic armor. Allowing justified rage to fuel his drive, he activated nitrogen booster on his alt-mode engine, speeding across large gashes and fallen frames of bots without swerving off track to head helm-first for the mech in question. An unsuspecting Megatron turned around just in time to be rammed straight into at high speed by the huge truck, their combined weight aiding the momentum of the charge broke them into a rolling tumble several mechano feet across the ground, servos entangled and limbs indiscernible. Being the object of the assault, Megatron was still struggling to recalibrate his whirling equilibrium when his gyros were inverted upside down, propulsing the mech to empty the content of his gestation tank through the vent and at the ped of his aggressor, to which he held back diligently for the sake of his own pride and humility. The Prime had picked him up by the ankle of his ped, and was holding it above his helm to let his frame dangle unobtrusively, his optics reaching the level of Orion's abdominal plating, forcing him to make a valiant effort to avert his gaze upward – downward from his perspective – to meet the mech's faceplate.

"This ends _now_ , Megatron!" Orion exclaimed, his battle axe settled dangerously near to Megatron's motor cortex, a promised threat suspended above the mech's helm both literally and figuratively, one of paralysis and incarceration. For extra measure, the mech brandished his axe to reflect a faint glimmer of sunlight tainted greenish through thick acid clouds, his optics never leaving direct contact with Megatron's own as they engaged in the most intense stare-down battle of the grit. If Megatron had been thoroughly honest with himself, that was the first time he sincerely understood what frightened to the core of one's spark felt like as he stared into Orion's cerulean peaceful optics, the source of unlimited patience and altruism, those soothing aura that were slightly aghast from pent-up exhaustion and frustration, yet nontheless radiated with unadulterated blazing fury, unrivaled and unmatched for a righteous cause.

"It ends… when I say it does!" Without precaution, Megatron displaced his own ankle held up in Orion's servo with a sudden jerk of his ped, twisting his frame away from the axe a comfortable distance enough to ensure his integrity when he brought up his own hatchet to hack at Orion's servo, compelling the mech to release his frame and duck away, allowing him to flop unceremoniously on the ground with an audible thud. Quick to regain his composure, Megatron fixated his unwavering attention on the form of the truckformer, ankle rightened in a pop of the joint and weapon yielded high in his other servo as he made his announcement.

"You have failed this city. You have failed Cybertron with your incompetence! You have led the foolish weaklings to their own extinction! Now observe, as my warriors crush your pathetic army into oblivion!"

"In your wildest imagination, Megatron! We Autobots, as you once were, and I believe a part of you still does, fight for freedom, the right of every sentient being. And that is the reason why we will keep fighting you, until the cycle justice prevails!"

"Then come at me, if you dare." Crouched down low, Megatron extended a servo in unspoken invitation, his faceplate bore an enigmatic smirk. Wasting no time, Orion snapped his battle mask shut and rushed at the mech with his own axe. Their weapons clashed in a metallic clang, Megatron putting his entire weight into the parry, successfully blocking Orion's charge and diverting his momentum to swerve the mech aside. Twisting on the heel of his ped, the mech turned with Orion's movement, servos grabbing hold of the mech's frame to add in to his momentum and throw the mech some extra distance away while he was still unbalanced on his peds. As graceful as the old Orion was used to be known of, the bigger reformatted frame of his Prime successor was no maneuverability material, and as so he was a victim to his own weight and bulk, skidded painfully on the ground until a screeching halt as every paint nanite was scratched clean off his chestplate, baring exposed grey and small cuts of metal shards slicing deep into every crevice and crook of his body. Brushing off the pain, he rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being busted into millions of fragments upon impact of Megatron's ramming tank alt-mode, though he wasn't agile enough to avoid being peppered with a flurry of bullets from his automatic mounted turret in the meantime. Despite the superficial damage the small weapon inflicted, Orion still felt a great deal of pain from the ammo biting deep into acid-corroded armor, enough to distract him from the incoming pummel as Megatron knuckled his helm in an arch swing, his entire frame staggering with the tremendous force of the blow. Hitting the ground face-first into a puddle of acid, the sizzling sound of the greenish substance liquifying his soft protoform into its base components overtook his audio receptors while any sensor node was still fritzing from the unbearable pain assaulting his unshielded faceplate, the sound of Megatron talking muffled and unintelligible.

"You have fallen, Prime! Just like your weak scientist friend, Shockwave, wasn't it? Such great ambition and aspiration for such an insignificant pest, it almost pained me to exploit his love for science and Dark Energon to bend the power of nature to my will." He announced, tone smug in satisfaction. "How foolish of him to introduce me to the wonders of this magical liquid when he orchestrated the underground attack to retrieve my older self's frame. Ever since my revival, never have I been more stronger, more powerful, and more enlightened. Dark Energon is not only the substance of god, it _is_ the creation of god, of the unholy Unicron himself, and only those who are worthy shall be imbued with its power!" Declared the mech, his optics shone bright magenta as the liquid in question coursed pure energy across his veins. Cringing back in disgust, Orion felt a firm clutch on his peds, before he found himself in the same predicament they shared just a few klicks prior, though this time with their respective position reversed.

"Session after session in the rotting Pit of Kaon had all but proven that, and I was no fool to take the miracle for granted. The mech practically jumped in excitement when I agreed to offer myself under the illusion that I would play his 'experiment subject'. Had he learnt of his rightful position as a faithful servant of mine, he could have been allowed to live the life of luxury as a Decepticon lieutenent so long as his expertise still proved benefitial to my total dominance of Cybertron. Too bad he had to show that spark of defiance, only to be crushed under my peds, for Megatron doesn't tolerate insubordination!" With each sentence, the ex-gladiator tightened his hold an inch, until his palms crushed the outer armor of Orion's ped and expose vulnerable circuitry beneath, still sparkling from the dripping acid working its way through soft wiring. Refusing to give up, Orion locked blue optics with Megatron's ruby red, their gaze murderous and intense enough to figuratively deactivate a mech if optics were capable of emitting laser beam from a stare.

"Shockwave was no weakling, and you utilizing his noble dream is repulsively despicable, even for a mech of your decency. You merely beat a replica of himself, and that was entirely accredited to Straxus. The real Shockwave wouldn't hesitate to take you on helm-first, for he would acquire triumphant victory over you any cycle." Orion retorted with as much venom as he could muster, though he succeed in accomplishing nothing more than fueling Megatron's amusement.

"Is that so? If what you are insinuating is – dare I say – true, then why would he hide cowardly behind a remote control while I beat the slag out of his drone? If he was such a fearless scientist fighting for justice, then why deployed an entire platoon of hired muscle to decimate your precious Autobot freedom fighters? Why kidnapped and perform illegal experiment on me, on the Councilmech Rustbolt, on the Enforcer Prowl, all against their will? Why bother stashing and toying with the unholy substance at first, when in actuality it was you and him who prosecuted the corrupted Councilmech Ratbat for the very same reason in the first place?" Megatron was as cruel in his action as he was in words, each inquery accompanied with a pummel directed straight at Orion's rust-corroded faceplate, indenting his battle mask and cracking one of his optics while rendering the other totally shattered, bringing his visibility down to only half its capability. Not yet satisfied from the torment he was dealing, the mech shook Orion violently, letting loose components rattle painfully underneath his plating while Energon dripped freely from a corner of his battle mask when he continued his verbal assault. "If you even bother to tell me it was because of that shard of Dark Energon impaling his processor in the first place, then spare me your excuses. The mech was an emotionless machine dictated purely by logic, and he wouldn't hesitate to dismantle you, his so-called friend, if it meant a logical route of action. At the very least, explain me this: why did you stab the shard into his processor in the first place, if you so treasured your friend even a fraction as much as you claimed to do?" Megatron raised his battle hatchet to Orion's neck-joint, intending to severe the helm from the body in the most torturous deactivation he could façade. Unbeknownst to him, his action had been the last straw that pushed someone to the end of their tolerance.

For a clueless Orion, the mention of the night brought up painful reminders, a sore spot forever festering in his conscience, and he found himself dettaching from reality, every sensation numb and distant, as if submerging to blissful ignorance, and so the mech welcomely embraced the dominance of his other taking over.

Red, hot, boiling rage made the Matrix of Leadership's soothing aura recoiled as it tried to distant itself from the newly emerged spark and its negative emotion, the voices of the predecessor Primes and Primus himself quieting in the face of ungodly aggression. Orion's optics switched colour, from its usual bright cerulean to a pitch black, and the mech staring at Megatron was no longer Orion. Faster than the speed any ordinary optical sensor could relay, a servo shot out to grab at Megatron's unused tank barrel, and with a strength no mortal soul could have muster, yanked the component clean off of its holster, tearing through any plating and circuitry like they were made of rust crumble. Not even granted any time to register the pain, let alone vociferating his terror, Megatron was pummeled in the abdominal area, his thick gladiator armor sustaining only a proportion of the force until it gave away under the attack in pieces, the entire mech himself thrown across the battlefield as if he had just been rammed into by five Orions simultaneously. Leisurely, his aggressor stood up from being dropped helm-first on the ground, various injuries adorning his frame regenerating as new while the mech made for Megatron's slumped frame in comfortable pace. Not making actual effort to dodge any acid puddle, every direct contact the mech had with the lethal liquid making it vaporize in green mist, while Orion's plating remained intact, if anything more shinier than before. Decepticon soldiers rushing at the mech were met with an early demise for their shot bounced off the mech reflective-like dome, and anyone unfortunate enough to reach him in close proximity was melted to slag in an instance. Undetered from his steps, the mech approached Megatron, who had yet to recover, was still lying in an indiscernible pile on the ground. Smiling gently, he picked the sliver gladiator up in a full swoop, black optics bearing cold murder down at dazzled red.

"Oh love, Orion didn't impale Shockwave with that Dark Energon shard. _I_ did."

He twisted Megatron's right servo until it was displaced from its socket and severed completely, the victim vocalizing his torment in audio receptors-shattering scream.

" _I_ started this war, not you. _I_ impulsed Shockwave to experiment on you, not logic. _I_ started our relationship, and no, it _wasn't_ insincere."

He repeated the activity with Megatron's other servo, the mech's vocalizer fritzing static of misuse.

" _I_ make Orion the Prime despite my own sacrifice, and I wouldn't let anyone stand in the way of _our_ glory. Not even you, love."

A good tug at one of Megatron's ped, and the mech was rendered immobile, the pain surpassing vocalizable limit as the mech only responded in dead silence.

"You humiliated him, dishonoring _our_ frame. Then you threatened _our_ life, which is unacceptable."

The next pull resulted in his entire lower half mangled beyond recognition, and Megatron was nearing the brim of passing out, his pain tolerance long surpassed its limit.

"But the straw to break the turbocamel's backstrut was how you disgrace _our_ love with the abomination that _you_ have become."

Punching a hole straight through Megatron's fuel tank, the mech never once ceasing his smile, though it had become lopsided somewhat. Megatron had already lost whatever consciousness he was stubbornly clinging on to, Energon both blue and dark purple streaming down his dismembered chasis at an alarming rate, quickly pooling up a puddle under Orion's peds. Not satisfied with the execution, the mech wrapped Megatron's helm in a palm and unleashed a massive electricity discharge right from his bare servo, shocking the unconscious mech back to the world of the living.

"Wh… who… are you?" He managed to croak out despite the pain, his usual thunderous, raspy voice now hoarse and barely audible after the abuse.

"My identity shall remain a mystery to everyone other than Orion, but you can refer to me simply as _the Thirteenth Prime_."

He dropped Megatron's remain into the the puddle composed of his own fluid, before setting a firm ped on the mech's spark cover and pressed down. Metal case crumbled under sheer force, revealing a blue orb of spark matter flickering inside. Mesmerized with the swirling life force, the Prime bent closer, extending a servo at the spark only for it to dim in intensity and glow. A rueful laugh escaped his vocalizer, the sound resembling nothing a mortal could recreate as its echo stretched into an ethereal perpetuity. Optics a hollow pitch darkness, the mech turned his empty gaze at Megatron's army, peds still crushing into the sparkchamber without mercy.

"If Orion had known you would never be the mech who you once were again, he wouldn't have hesitated to end your miserable petty life. The only reason you were spared was because your association with his lover, a mere nolstagia and remembrance concealing the truth to his optics. Tread carefully, for the cycle will come when Orion realized you are not our significant other. And _then_ ," the mech chuckled, each small vibration of his engine trembling the surface of the ground in deep seismic waves. "You will understand what it is like to disturb a Prime." His ped finally trampled all the way across the sparkchamber, snuffing the spark of Megatron out of existence as the mech's very life essence was distinguished. On a streak, he plucked the silver gladiator's helm from its neck socket and stare at the body part in great attention.

"Such a beautiful faceplate. Too bad you weren't good enough for us." He commented nonchalantly as if remarking about the daily climate, not a spot of bother apparent on his darkened faceplate. Extending a cable from Orion's chest, he plugged it into the interface port of Megatron's nape, rummaging through the mech's processor for a splice of his presence. After a while, he retracted the data cord, engines rumbling loudly in pleasure as the mech was reunited to be whole and complete once again, his spark now pulsing more vibrant and vigorous than for a long time. Discarding the helm in a splash into the puddle of his own fluid, the Prime walked away leisurely on his destruction path, direction set for the Senate Tower where the largest concentration of Decepticons was crowding, exhilaration rushing through his veins at the prospect of wreaking havoc and chaos on the unsuspecting mortal creations of Primus. Though, if he were to pay any attention to the carcass he left behind, the Prime would have witnessed the unholy abomination that denied every force of nature as the mech he had just terminated was summoned back to life, Dark Energon to be the culprit at play.

The Matrix of Leadership beneath his chassis wailed as the incarnation of Primus himself witnessed the abomination of his own creation, every presence of prior Primes radiating sentiments of incredulity, horror and abhorrence. The ancient artifact's turbulence of disarrayed emotions felt like an intrusive weight pulling at his spark heavy like lead, and as abrupt as their appearance, they amplified in intensity simultaneously, reducing the Prime to a pile of writhing mess as he collapsed in his path only after three pedfalls, blank faceplate contorted in anguish while the frame spasmed in rhythm with every excruciating pulse of the spark arrest. The Matrix was eating away at his abnormality spark signature as a defense mechanism to protect Orion's own, the pain awokening the other mech to consciousness as they both shared the torment of inextricable separation after being in perfect synchronization for too long, their fragile harmony of co-existence now corrupted beyond recover.

* * *

 _ **Mayhem. Turmoil. Pandemonium.**_

Orion was confused and petrified in frozen fear. His frightened spark was pulsing frantically, desperate for any source of stability to cling on to. Sensing another comforting presence, he latched onto it without further ado.

" _Hello, Orion."_

 _ **Perplexity. Incertitude. Astonishment.**_

"I thought you said you couldn't appear anymore now that we have the Matrix?" He questioned, curiousity getting the best of him.

" _Indeed… as I have made the worst mistake of my life. Now I am suffering greatly as my ungodly presence is purged from this plane of existence under Primus's purifying artifact. Yet, I am neither remorseful nor sorrow; I do not harbor any regrets to have sacrificed myself for the greater cause."_

 _ **Uncertainty. Apprehension. Unease.**_

"But… without you, what do I do?"

" _Deep down, you have always been the Prime. You knew what to do. Follow your instinct. Honour our name."_

"But I don't think I'm ready yet!"

" _You will never be. But such shall not deter you from your holy path. You are destined for greatness, always remember that."_

Anguish overwhelmed his manifestation, sensor nodes brought online registering excruciating pain from the physical plane of existence brought him back to the world of the living. In the split-nanoklick of the semi-awoken trance, he could still hear the Prime's final utterance.

" _My time is running out. Farewell, **Optimus**."_

* * *

The only thing he felt was agony, red hot and boiling, tearing his very existence apart as he felt tendrils of his spark stretching and disentangling with one another, spark matter loosing distinctive integrity as they reformed and recoiled into a narrowing tight bunch. Its intensity dimmed dramatically and as so weakened the pulse; dual, strong and resonant, rhythmic beat was reduced into a solo staccato, sheer essence of himself and what made up of his most personal characteristics were lost to the immeasurable anguish. It had long escalated further than any vocalizer's capability, the mortal damage inflicted upon his spark far greater than to be expressed merely through the wail of a vocalizer, and so the mech kept silent in the face of extremity. Feeling coolant leaking away from his optics to stream down numb faceplate, the mech made no effort to wipe them, nor to righten his posture and preserve whatever was left of his dignity or humility in the face of his arch-nemesis, simply because the pain surpassed every egotistical idealism and stripped the mech down to the very basic compoound of his physical frame to the atomic particle. Not even heating up or cooling down a degree, he felt every sensor nodes set ablaze on fire and frozen to absolute frost simultaneously, their combined torment taking its toll on his very sanity as the mech questioned his own mental health. Yet to be relented from death's torturous grip, the sadistic malfunction of his processor acted up, conjuring illusion of every greatest pain ever inflicted on his abused frame, the mech helpless to accomplish much further than writhing in despair during the show. To add insult to injury, his emotional cortex seemed to be merged with uncalibrated equilibrium gyros, both turbulent and disorienting to the point he could no longer distinguish anger from happiness or differentiate the ground and the non-existent crater whose black abyss would envelope him as he fell to his own blessed deactivation. Never had he yearned harder for a swift and painless suicide than that exact moment which seemed to last for an eternity, incarcerating his soul in perpetual damnation of sorrow and anguish as the Prime's spark was excruiciatingly disintegrated under the Matrix's relentless glare of holy justice.

Overshadowed and blurred by the pain was Megatron's revival playing out before his optics, a showcase of light as swirling Dark Energon vapor and fragmentations of silver plating restored to their pristine condition on their rightful position of the intact frame, and soon enough the unscathed ex-gladiator was staring down at his thrashing form, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his liplates. "I see your optics had turned blue again. What's the matter with the little Prime? Where's your bruiser alter-ego? I take it accusing others of disassociative personality disorder when they themselves harbor two separate sets of personalities doesn't count as hipocrisy in Prime's standard?" Laughing out loud, the mech continued despite Orion's fit of gagged vents. "Can't say I actually enjoy his pummeling, though his presence was certainly something to admire: something so primal, so powerful and so… _wild_. Far different from the weakling that _you_ are," he spat at the mech's faceplate in disgust as if to put emphasis. "If he was still somewhere in there, then LOOK AT ME!" Yanking the mech's helm closer to his own, the mech sneered. "You might have thought you've beaten Megatron, but he is inconquerable! He is invulnerable! He is invincible! And he is really itching for a rematch, so come out and FACE ME!"

Unbeknownst to the mech, the bot he was addressing had already been totally abdicated from existence, nothing but a faint tendril of stubborn spark matter clinging on to life. The Matrix gave a particular strong cleansing pulsation, and the mech on Megatron's servo emptied the content of his fuel tank on the mech's faceplate for a reply instead.

"Argh! Fine! Hide, COWARD!" He backhanded the mech, semi-processed blue Energon still dripping from his bared dentas. "I will be sure to leave your pretty little vessel alive for the both of you to watch, as I eradicate this entire city state of any opposition! I'll show you what it's like to FEEL THE WRATH OF MEGATRONUS!" Letting the frame drop to the ground in an unceremonious flop, the mech made a straight beeline for the Senate Tower, arm cannon primed and loaded as he let out a furious battle cry. Surrounding Decepticon units all abandoned their battle to form his escort and cover his flanks. In perfect unison, the small platoon marched torwards the tower, crushing any resistance on their path. Still struggling to sit up from the pain, the mech was powerless to do anything other than watch. And watch he did.

He watched as Megatron launched the first shot of his cannon, trembling the tower's foot. He watched as Decepticon soldiers began their attack on the support stabilizers, then the concrete core of the building, detonating detpacks and explosives around vital positions. He watched as the tower shook violently with each of Megatron's cannon discharge, its inhabitants locked inside with no possible way out. He watched a fire started at the inflammable foundation, its red and orange tendril of heat licking up the side of the skyscrapper as it climbed the vertical length of the complex. He watched as the very tip was engulfed entirely in flame, until the building finally gave out from the brutal assault, collapsing to the ground in a mighty heave. And he continued to watch it burn entirely, until nothing discernible from the pile of debris, ash and smoke occupied its previous location.

Emerging from within the black substance's concealment was a dim purple glow, accompanied by occasional silver glint of metal armor. Megatron was leading the group of Decepticons away from their recent triumph, each and every bot vocalizing their enthusiasm and hype in loud holler and whistle, their entourage one of a victorious march after the battle. In certain speckles of poorly refracted light from green acid rain and red burning flame distant, their platings flashed a purple ray of light, the same shade concordant to Dark Energon exposure when Megatron's frame was revived just mere klicks ago, creating the lucid ambience of an army of invincibility, of incarnated Unicron within Primus's creations. Together, they walked across the battlefield towards the edge of the city, scattering Decepticons here and there dropping their battles to join the the great army in their jubilant parade, none bothering to spare a second glance at the destruction and mayhem they had just wrecked on the land of Iacon. From high above the ground, Seekers flew in tight formation to form the Decepticon sigil with their hind thrusters, the purple emblem maliciously printed on shrouded sky dome a haunting image many Autobot soldiers surviving that historical battle could never fully erase from their databanks as an evidence of their disgraceful lost, patronizing the Autobot cause as much as it devastated Cybertron itself. The cycle had gone down in history as the cycle when the Council, Senate and Functionists were no longer; Cybertron had finally disposed of its corrupted government to devolve into civil war, giving the hatred birth to the irreparable rift between the two dominant factions of the Great War, spiting conflict and chaos to run rampage on their homeland and across galaxies in an epic quarrel that would last for millenias to come.

In the face of such significance, one mech was lying helpless on the ground the exact spot where he was dropped not a few klicks before, still too deeply engrossed in pain and agony of the spark split to register anything of the physical world outside his small bubble of suffering other than a mute vision relay from cracked optics. For such a big frame his Prime reformat was, he had never felt so powerless before even when he was the small, anonymous Orion. He had been throughly beaten to a pulp under Megatron's servos, surviving to the moment only by his other's ultimate sacrifice despite the raging artifact nestled next to his spark. They had departed under the sadistic whim of the gladiator to prolong his suffering until the next time they battle, allowing him to watch helplessly while the mech slaughtered the Council, his army, and even his own pride didn't escape the fate of total humiliation. Those blissfully unaware mecha, for the corrupted manipulation they had asserted over Cybertron in their short-lived reign, had instilled trust and hope in him when they appointed him as the next bearer of the Matrix of Leadership, and yet he failed to protect even one of them. He failed to protect his soldiers, his friends, the mecha who shared his aspiration and heeded his call in Cybertron's time of need. For every fallen mecha that cycle, for every unfortunate soul forcefully stripped away a chance to revel in Cybertron's glorious dawn the next early cycle due to his failure, he felt unimaginable anguish and sympathetic sorrow. For the bleak future of their planet still lying in vain, he felt guilty to face the next generation of Cybertronians as the fallen Prime who failed to accomplish his sacred role of protecting and leading its inhabitants, instead allowing personal feud to intercept with his duty, costing them the great downfall of the Iacon city, the once-striving economy and politic center of the planet, now nothing more than a dead remnant of the past. He felt grievance for the demise of his other self, for having to make such an excruciating sacrifice of his own existence just to compensate for his lack of assertiveness, to ensure that his pointless life was preserved while instead it should have been the other way around. His futility had not just cost them the first battle, but also the moral compass and obstinacy of the entire Autobot cause, wavering every loyal mech as they finally recognized his empty promises and fraud authority for their true value, and for once truly realized how forlorn their situation was. The Autobot army was falling apart right in front of his optics, and as their supposedly infallible leader, all he could do was to thrash on the ground.

Dominating every self-depreciation leadening at his conscience was an entirely different sensation, however. It was no mere emotion, but rather a lack thereof, empty vacant overwhelming his sensor nodes in deafening waves of silence. When the pain of the assault finally came to an end, a realization dawned on him.

The Thirteenth Prime was no more. Occupying this shell was not even a phantom shadow of his former self; an incompetent mech, yet already committed to a lifetime of service to Cybertron and its mecha under the highest leadership position of Prime, despite his apparent lack of experience or a constant advisor beside to monitor his every movement and decision.

His designation, as nominated by the other, was **_Optimus_**.

* * *

Author's note: after quite a while, this fic has finally reached its official end! I know, the plot just cut off abruptly, but I didn't say there won't be another fic to follow up and pick up from here. What I meant to say is, this fic focuses mainly on this part of his life, and the departure of my OC marked its end to transition into another separate part. For anyone still reading, my most sincere gratitude from the bottom of my heart. Be sure to stick around for the epilogue! It should contain some spoilers for the next fic I'm working on. For now, I can only confirm that it would be closely connected to this one, either as an AU base for whatever future TF projects I would do, or as a direct sequel/prequel etc. One thing for sure though, the Optimus/Orion centric is now done. I will definitely do proper justice to this plot in my later works, and I might refer to him in future projects, further exploiting his storyline or maybe stealing his POV once in a while, but he won't be the center of attention anymore.


	36. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

"Orion Pax, do you accept the honour of Prime, along with its sacred duty of protecting the mecha of Cybertron, for what better or worse to come?"

"I… erm… honestly, I'm not so sure either." He swerved off lamely, averting his gaze to the ground.

"Bargh! When will you finally mech up and say the fragging word?" Exclaimed an exasperated Ironhide, frustrated to no end at the mech's behaviour. They had been going over and over his coronation endlessly for the last 2 joors or so, and every single slagging time the mech had to have one of his so-called anxiety attack, just when they were about to reach the end of his vow.

A metal clank rang out of the spacious storage room closely followed by a pained yelp, signifying Ratchet's infamous move of an artistic wrench-to-the-helm reprimand, reminding Ironhide to keep his vocalizer shut if he did not want to bear an indented helmet to public's prying optics. "Anxiety disorder is nothing to laugh at, especially when it was triggered by such a horrendous memory. Orion, are you alright?" Addressing the question to the mech, he switched to a more gentle tone, his voice losing the sharp biting snark it usually carry everywhen conversing with the gruff Royal guard. Orion had already been too deeply lost in his incertitude, the rest of the events transpiring escaped his knowledge as he was tightly coiled against the wall, servos around to hug at his own elbow joints and faceplate hidden behind kneecaps.

" _Be eradicated!"_

" _Feel the wrath of Megatronus!"_

" _You have failed this city!"_

Startling awoke with a horrified jolt, the mech cycled air frantically through his vents, engine rumbling loudly as it put effort to cool down overheated neural net, the worst of the hyperventilation had already past and was subsiding gradually to return his stoic composure back in pieces. Focusing his optics on Ratchet's concerned faceplate, he let out a huff of air and admitted softly.

"No, I'm not. I keep hearing Megatron, as if he was right here talking into my audios… In a fraction of a nanoklick I could have sworn we were still there, on that very cycle when-

"Alright, that's enough. Reminiscing about a traumatic memory is not going to help your mental state get any better. The important thing right now is that you are here, right now, in the presence of the moment, remember?"

Cycling a few deep vents like he had been trained to do in the occasion of an anxiety attack, he calmed down enough to form an actual coherent response. "I'm okay. I'm good. I'm here, and now, and no one or no thing can harm me. I'm safe, as far as I am concerned." Repeating the soothing mantra, the mech evened his spark pulse to a more stable healthy rhythm.

"Not so sure 'bout that. Every mech is a possible spy, remember that defective Straxus from earlier? He was right under your olfactory sensor all the time no less, and yet we still failed to account for him being the mole to deposit all our vital information to our enemy as he so please." Ironhide remarked bitterly, still resentful of the traitorous mech ever since the Iacon showdown, his backstrut bearing a sizable gash which he refused to be wielded shut, as he had tactfully put it, "a reminder to never turn your back against an ally". Ratchet had even attempted to rationalize with him and appease to aesthetic reasons, but the mech just plain out refuse to give up a nice battle scar to show off at the annual Royal guards' veteran meeting. The mech had tried to fix it in Ironhide's unsuspecting recharge, but after being caught red-handedly for the fifth time or so had enlisted the use of tranquilizers and medical stasis to keep the mech under while he work undisturbed, hence the reason why the battle scar was only a singular count and a good 3 inches long in diameter.

As he finished his rant, Ironhide's extensive damage list was updated with a lovely large dent at the back of his helmet as Ratchet granted him with another wrench, this one even larger than the previous. "How many times do I have to remind you to keep your trap shut during our therapy sessions? For Primus's sake, you know nothing of the word 'tactful' do you?"

"It wasn't my fault that the mech was prone to such sensitivity…

"Sensitivity my aft! You are either going to get your aft out of this pit-spawned room or you will remain silent until I tell otherwise, or so Primus help you to seek refuge somewhere my XXL wrench cannot reach, because I give you my word that it will be the end of your dignity and pride as you bear it to the next veteran meeting as a domestic scar, do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, boss!" Giving a mock salute, Ironhide smirked at Orion behind Ratchet's turned back.

The gesture went unnoticed, though. For the moment, the mention of such an event greatly bothered Orion, setting his concerns ablaze in renewed angst, wracking his nerves into a bunch of sparkling circuitry. Sensing his distress, the Matrix started to release its soothing aura, which only succeeded to bring him even more anxiety from its nolstagic reminder of the painful separation with his other. Instantly recoiled in a dejected ball of depression, the artifact hung loosely in his spark, turbulence of suggestion and idealism temporarily silenced so as to grant him whatever semblance of harmony and privacy it could. With his other's departure, the relic seemed to adopt more humanity as it formed a conscious presence settling close to his spark, occupying the comfortable room of the other's spark, occasionally offering sentiments and emotional advice as it did with his Prime duty. Whether it was caused by the other's demise or from the mental instability haunting his processor as of late, the only certainty he could claim was that the improvement did little to relieve him of any stress.

Too busy brooding had he not recognized when Prowl's looming existence had crept up right behind their collective backs until the mech verbalized his inquery. "Are your mental state sufficient to participate in the coronation?"

Panic filled his processor at the thought of confronting citizens of Iacon after failing to protect their city state, his imagination working its power to fill in the blank with their resentful glare, not any less realistic and haunting than an actual screnario.

"Why do you ask? Of course I am." He lied, forged nonchalant tinting at raised vocalizer in the most convincing act he could façade. However, his performance fooled no one, as evidential by the incredulous silence colouring the room right after his response. Narrowed optics in skepticism, Prowl pushed again. "We cannot afford any mistake during the utmost important ceremony. Please be sincere with us."

Meeting his optics were Orion's own feigning ignorance, his optical ridge raised high in fake confusion. Yet, his small performance was cut short as another anxiety attack kicked in, leaving him no other option but to spill every truth.

"Alright, I can't do this. I really can't do this. I don't want to be Prime. Please don't make me Prime. I want to resign."

"Orion…

"No! I cannot look those mecha directly in their optics while I shamelessly annouce myself as their supposed leader after my incompetence cost them their city, their home. Prime or not, my moral compass won't stand for it, and I would rather not be Prime than to continue to plague our history with my dishonourable name." He exclaimed with finalty, voice laden with steel resolution unwavering as the mech locked optics with the chief Enforcer.

Seeing no plausible outcome with this tactic, Ratchet tried another endeavor. "Okay then, answer me this. Do you think Ironhide would look pretty in pink?"

"Excuse me?" The mech was frozen in his place, glossa tied and vocalizer not mumbling a single utterance, shocked beyond coherency at the sudden change in topic.

"Hey! I'm still sitting right here, you know?" The mech in question voiced his disconsent, insulted and thoroughly offended at the scandalised embarassment. Completely ignored by everyone else, he pouted sullenly in the corner of the room, forgotten.

"No way! Are you telling me you succeed in pulling off that impossible prank? When? In his recharge? Mech, you've gotta show me the photo. This is gold comedy!" An Autobot added his two cent in the equation, Ironhide's presence totally non-relevant in his excitement.

"I concur. A photo of said spectacular event would be highly entertaining." Even Prowl displayed a small tug at his liplates, his optics glinting in amusement.

Not receiving the right response he wanted, Ratchet directed the question at Orion's melancholy form again. "Just answer the question. Do you?"

Finally earning a bit solace for the first time in a long while, Orion allowed the mental image of a pink Ironhide to overide accusatory glares as he chuckled softly. "I sincerely do."

With a satisfied smirk, Ratchet ended the recording.

* * *

"I sincerely do." The pre-recording played smoothly, no one present in the auditorium none-the-wiser except from the few mecha closer to his inner circle. Ratchet's idea was brilliant, to make use of his easy reply to a complete different scenario to fill in his stuttering blank, every timing meticulously adjusted down to the smallest astroklick so as not to raise any suspicion, to which they succeeded flawlessly. Standing on the highest set of dais, Orion let out a huff or air to be relieved of a heavy burden, his coronation not much further away from completion.

"Then it has been settled. With the ongoing unrest of our society, the derranged appearance of the faction Decepticon and their leader Megatron, our civilization had delved into endless depth of bleak despair. _The time for a new Prime has arisen._ " Mecha exploded in applause after the last sentence, the entire run-down storage district repurposed into temporary Autobot conference hall where the coronation was being hosted filled with aggrement from Iacon mecha of every shape, size and built, regardless of social status or economy class.

"The Prime mantle, along with every sacred duty and obligation as the one, true and only leader of Cybertron, shall now belong to the mech here whom we have all placed our trust and faith into. He had proven his liability and courage by leading us through times of crisis, through our darkest cycles when our very home had been brutally destroyed and invaded by enemy's horde. Not to be deterred, this mech had bravely led us to battle and stood our ground firm against incoming waves of relentless evil, and for what had come better or worse, we will rejoice in the memory of our fallen comrades who had believed in a brighter future, a cycle when our beloved home is finally reunited under the leadership of the Prime!" The crowd cheered on, their rhythmic chant deafening audio receptors as a fresh surge of determination and resolution coursed through his veins.

" _From this day on, you are no longer the dock worker Orion._ You shall be known as the very leader of Cybertron, our _Prime_ , the delegated prodigy of Primus himself, bearing the honourable artifact Matrix of Leadership granted to us by the one and only god. May his wisdom shed light to guide you on our darkest joor." Placing two symbolic shoulder pads on his frame, the mech submerged to his kneecaps, kneeling on the ground.

"What designation should follow your mantle?"

"Optimus." He found himself responding without thinking, the name deeply ingrained within his subconsciousness by a distant spark pulse, its sensation not felt for quite some time, bringing a tingle of nolstagia to the forefront of his processor.

"Mecha and femmes! Rise to your peds in salute to our newest leader! Bow down to Optimus Prime!" The announcer bellowed into the microphone, his voice amplified and carried across the auditorium.

"All hail Optimus!" From a corner of his optics registered Ratchet and his friends copying the pose.

"All hail Optimus!" The crowd echoed.

" _All hail Optimus."_ A disbodied murmur rang out in his audio receptors, but he needn't check to know who its owner was; his spark ached and twisted too much to be ignored. A drop of coolant leaked from his optics as the mech stared solemnly down at the crowd, spark set on acquiring justice for every Autobot soldier fallen under the servos of Megatron, any affection dedicated to his significant other evaporated in the spite of the moment to be replaced with hot, burning fury. Come what may, he made a promise to never fail his mecha again. And he intended to keep it.

"All hail **Optimus**!"

* * *

"Hey! Get over here! I think bossbot is waking!" Frenzy announced, his pile drivers prodding and inspecting a navy blue frame.

"Get out of my way!" Shoving his brother roughly aside, Rumble climbed onto the mech's glass cockpit and stared into his red visor. Seeing no response satisfying his demand, the cassetticon impatiently poked at the visor with his pile driver, making his mistake.

In a fraction of a nanoklick, everything transpired too fast for his optics to relay, and the next nanoklick the mech found himself staring at the end of a concussion cannon, its barrel firmly pressed into his slim pectoral plating where his spark settled, heat radiating with a low rumble as the weapon was primed and fully loaded.

"Bossbot, wait! It's me! Rumble, your minion!" He yelped, careful not to make any subtle movement for fear of triggering the mech to take the shot.

"Query: time. Chronometer: malfunctioning." The weapon was retracted upon realization of the mech, the telepath not missing a beat as he turned to address the more sane of the two.

"Strange. I've fixed your circuitry exactly like the schematic we've stolen from that facility."

"Malfunction: time displaying: 3 megacycles later than last online session."

"Oh, that's not malfunctioning. You've been under for nearly a quarter of a full stellar." The mech dutifully announced before pivoted on his heel and walk away. Not conjuring up the minimum strength to lift his servo, the mech panicked.

"Query: paralyzed?"

"No no, your tank is completely empty, lack of any Energon. We've been rationing fuel for the last two decacycles, every last inch gobbled up by this rust bucket here," he nodded his helm at Rumble who protested loudly. "Energon is getting harder to hunt these cycles. Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw are scouting drainage sewers for filterable Energon, while Ravage is hunting wild turbofoxes from a nearby natural habitat. Rumble has just recently returned from his venture deep inside an Autobot storage to steal some precious cubes, his escape a close one, let me tell you that."

"You should've gone with me. You could get to see my pile drivers pummeling those Autobots to oblivion!"

"Bossbot needs taking care of. Sorry Rumble, perhaps let me show you how it's done the next time?"

"You bet I'll be dragging your aft kicking and screaming!" Sharing a brief fist bump, the mech wandered off outside the open cavern, returning the cave to its blessed serenity and silence. Light flickered from a small hole above, a magical twilight aura onto their surrounding, a small oil lamp on the working desk the only source of illumination as it cast silhouettes of master and cassette onto the nearest wall.

"Query: events during unconscious?"

Retrieving a canister of oil from the desk, Frenzy extracted the substance and emptied it down a large pot scribbled "refinery" in careful Neo-Cybex, his communication specialist expertise recognizing Frenzy's distinct handwriting. "Heck a lot of things had occurred during your absence, bossbot. There's the Iacon war, then the archivist Orion Pax's coronation as he was chosen to inherit the Matrix and become the next Prime. Apparently, this one was a bit lunatic, because he just up and vanished after several cycles of being Prime, then later found inside the same facility where we recovered you for no good reason. Oh, and guess who was also there." He pressed a few buttons beneath the pot, the liquid inside began bubbling as it was heated.

"Query?"

"Megatron. He gave the order to start the attack on Iacon without you, so we left his army to go find you. As Lazerbeak had recovered on her scout, the mech gave the order to retreat just when Decepticons were winning, then suddenly disappeared without a trace." With a laddle, the tiny cassetticon mucked up a full swoop of the boiling liquid and transferred it to a glass tank labeled "distiller" in a corner, repeating the process until the large pot was entirely empty. "He was spotted by the Enforcer's surveillance feed at the facility, engaged in some shady experiment with the freak Councilmech Shockwave, if the rumour was true, on the ungodly liquid of Dark Energon itself."

 _Shockwave. That was the mech who experimented on him._

In a brief of fury, he clenched his servos too hard that the digits dented and paint nanites were chipped to reveal dull grey protoform underneath. Hearing the sound, Frenzy stopped short in his work and rushed to his side.

"Bossbot! What's wrong?"

"Query: Shockwave's location?"

"Erm… nobody knows that, really. The mech had already disapeared when Enforcers knocked down the place, the only thing they found a drone replica of him. Oh, and search they did, let me tell you. The chief Enforcer himself had them turn the entire place upside down searching for something classified, their desperate demeanor almost winning my sympathy. Imagine we didn't find your frame as easily as we did, I could almost imagine us tearing the place down for your frame just like he did." The mech resumed his work, activating a small mechanical sequence at the glass tube and the liquid dripped into a filtering tray beneath. "What was his name again? Pax? No, that's the Prime's old designation. Prax? No, that's not right. Prudent?"

"Chief Enforcer: Prowl?"

"Yes, Prowl! Wait, you know him?"

Silence overtook the ambience as Soundwave contemplated over the mech. _So he really did come back for me after all._

"Bossbot?"

"Affirmative?"

"Still interested in hearing the full story?"

"Proceed."

"Okay, well, after that whole ordeal there was the ultimate Iacon showdown. The battle was wild, in every literal sense of the word. Decepticons and Autobots alike all went berserker on each other, decimating an estimated of 2500 mecha in total. Megatron won though, his army crushing three-fourth of Iacon's residents, Senate tower included. Now Cybertron is officially governmentless. Every mecha is forced to take a stance, either it be the Prime's, Megatron's or a neutral's side. It's wild out there, bossbot. That's the main reason why we hid you in here while scavenging for parts and Energon to fix your frame. That, and Megatron's relentless hunt for us after he declared us as traitors and deserters. Luckily this place is entirely off the grid." He collected the dim blue liquid from a dispensor tap below the glass tank into a rusty Energon cube, before delivering the fuel to him.

"Here, bossbot. Drink this. Dilluted Energon, refined and distilled from convergible energy source, which in this case is an aged canister of lubricant oil. It's the best alternative to actual Energon that I could manage, it should help with the self-repair while we wait for the others' return." The mech stared at him in hesitance, optics wide and apprehensive, fearful of his rejection. Partly to quench the thirst of his empty tank, but mostly to please the hopeful cassetticon, he consumed the liquid in one big gulp. It was very thinly dilluted, but Energon was Energon nontheless, and so his starved tank rumbled in pleasure at the nolstagic sensation of being fed.

"I made it completely from scratch! In the middle of nowhere, we have no one to depend on but ourselves, and we strive our best to sustain us until you recover completely, bossbot. Do you like it? Does your frame absorb it well?"

"Energon consumption: 62% efficiency. Energy source: sufficient." He announced, pride tinting his monotone at the prospect of his creations surviving all by themselves. At Frenzy's beaming faceplate, he couldn't help but swoop the mech into his servos and set the tiny cassette down on his pectoral glass pit.

"Bossbot, what are you doing?" The mech yelped in surprise, limbs flailing around in the air as he was flopped face-down onto his flat chassis.

"Faceplate: removed. Visor: now only coverage. Cassetticons: feeling?"

"I know, I've read your schematics. I mean, surprising, is it not? Barely a stellarcycle ago I wouldn't know how to tell the difference between a nut and a bolt, but we don't exactly have any medic available, and anything for you, bossbot. So, anyway, we realized your faceplate was removed to integrate the telepathic add-on, and personally, I think it's cool as pit."

"Discomfort: none? Telepathic power: not intrusive or abominable?"

"No, of course not, silly! Where did you even get such paranoid ideas? We're your creations! With or without faceplate, telepathic mind-reading creep or not, you'll aways be our Soundwave." He proclaimed with such certainty that the telepath felt his engine warming up, insecurities fended off and dismissed while he reveled in the close proximity with the squirming mech.

"So… what now, bossbot?"

Rather than the reply Frenzy was expecting, all he received was senseless, uncharacteristic cuddling and pampering from the larger navy mech.

"Suggestion: what do you think of being an Enforcer?"

* * *

Author's note: here as promised, the epilogue! I've carefully hidden hints and spoilers about the centric focus of the next fic, spot them if you can and drop a PM of your guess to my account:) Thank you, to all of you faithful readers who had accompanied me to this very last chapter, wish you all the best! Do please kindly leave a review if you think my hard work is worth it, I would really appreciate your feedback!

As for the next fic, now I'll probably take a month or two's break before it it published. Please be patient with me:)

Sincerely,

the_lazy_ant164


End file.
